


Through Hell

by PenPatronusAooO



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alan Deaton - Freeform, Alpha Derek Hale, Alpha Deucalion (Teen Wolf), Alpha Scott, Angst, BAMF Chris Argent, BAMF Derek, BAMF Scott McCall (Teen Wolf), BAMF Stiles, Banshee Lydia Martin, Banshees, Beacon Hills, Bromance, Darach - Freeform, Demon Wolf, Druids, Evil Gerard, Evil Gerard Argent, Fake Character Death, Friendship, Gay Male Character, Gen, Gerard Isn't Human, Hale Pack, Hale-McCall Pack, Hurt Allison, Hurt Derek, Hurt Derek Hale, Hurt Lydia Martin, Hurt Stiles, Hurt Stiles Stilinski, Hurt/Comfort, Jennifer Blake is Not a Darach, Magic, Male-Female Friendship, McCall Pack, Minor Character Death, Optimalpha, PenPatronus, PenPatronusAooO, Possession, Protective Derek, Protective Derek Hale, Protective Scott, Protective Scott McCall, Scott McCall & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, Season 3, Season/Series 03, Stydia, True Alpha Scott McCall, Warning: Gerard Argent, Werewolves, Whump, sterek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-06
Updated: 2017-10-06
Packaged: 2019-01-09 14:29:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12278448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PenPatronusAooO/pseuds/PenPatronusAooO
Summary: With the help of Deucalion's father and the Darach, the Alphas set a trap for the Hale pack - and Stiles suffers the worst.





	Through Hell

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place after s3 e6 and veers off into an AU. Featuring Stiles, Derek, Scott and Isaac. Hurt / Comfort, friendship, angst, drama. Stiles whump, Derek whump, winks at Sterek and Stydia.

**Through Hell**

PenPatronus  


Stiles couldn't stand up anymore. His ankles rolled and his full weight fell on the two girls supporting him. He felt Allison tighten her grip around his waist, heard Lydia's strained breaths in his ear. A mud puddle on the forest floor went in and out of focus. "Stiles!" Allison gasped on his left. "Stiles, no!" The teen's right knee, bare beneath the hem of his cross country uniform, landed in the puddle and splashed mud across Lydia's nude heels.

Lydia squeaked and fell with Stiles as he collapsed in stages: knees, ankles, butt, left hip, his shoulder landing against Lydia's stomach, his cheek above her heart. "Oh no, no, Stiles," she gasped, "it's just a little further. I can see the mouth of the cave."

"Liar," Stiles whispered. He licked his pale lips and hugged the gashes that stretched halfway around his body from his bellybutton to his spine. It was dusk, a dark dusk. What started as a sprinkle had snowballed into a storm with thunder so loud that the three friends could barely hear each other speak.

Allison positioned her body above Stiles to keep the rain out of his face. "Stiles, listen to me. Scott and the others will find us soon. You just have to hang on a little longer."

Right on cue, a wolf howl echoed through the woods. " _Derek_ …" Stiles whispered.

Lydia wiped her strawberry blonde hair out of her face. "You can recognize him by his roar?"

"I can recognize all of their howls," said Stiles. "I heard Cora right before you two found me. She sounded off, though. I think she's hurt…" Stiles frowned up at the girls. His eyes drooped like a sleepy infant's. "Am I – Am I hurt?"

Lydia stroked his cheek. "It isn't bad." Her voice trembled despite her best efforts. "That girl werewolf, the Alpha, she attacked you during the race, remember? You and Boyd."

"Boyd's dead," Stiles whispered. His eyes widened in terror. "She killed him. Oh God, Scott, Derek…"

"They can take care of themselves," Allison reminded him. "Stiles, you have to get up. I know these woods – the cave is only a hundred yards away."

"Can't." Stiles' blood dyed the mud puddle red.

"You have to," Allison urged him. "Stiles, we can't carry you." Liquid rolled down Stiles' cheeks. Whether it was rainwater or teardrops, the girls didn't know. "Stiles, get up – get up now!"

Lydia took a deep breath and tried another tactic. "Stiles?" Her thumb moved from his cheek to his chin to his lips. "Stiles, I'm scared. I need your help." His chocolate eyes fixed on hers. "I need you." And then, as gentle as a butterfly landing on a flower, Lydia pressed her warm, cranberry-colored lips against his cold, white mouth.

The kiss woke him up like a shot of adrenaline. He stared into Lydia's eyes but spoke to Allison, "Only a hundred yards?"

"Yes."

"If I pass out, I want you to go to the cave without me."

"Stiles—"

"Please, Allison."

Another wolf howl interrupted them. It was louder, closer. The girls looked expectedly at Stiles. "Was that Scott?" Allison asked.

Stiles shook his head.

"Isaac?"

"I don't think so…" Stiles took a deep breath and pushed himself up into a sitting position. "I don't recognize it. It must be—"

"One of the Alphas," Lydia whispered, terrified.

* * *

Derek howled so loud at the rising half-moon that his own eardrums popped. He didn't care if he drew every Alpha in the state to him. Boyd was dead, Cora was injured and the rain had washed away all traces of Stiles.

The Alpha resisted the urge to punch his fist right through the nearest tree. Injuring himself wouldn't save Stiles. Howling wouldn't save Stiles. Wishing he could go back in time and get to his friends before Kali did wouldn't save Stiles.

"Where are you?" Derek growled to the wind. He remembered, then, a conversation he had with his father when he was barely a teenager. A conversation about how werewolves had twice as many senses as other animals, three times as many as men. Derek knelt on the grassy knoll between the cross country race path and the woods. Derek shut his eyes and pictured Stiles' face in his mind's eye. He flipped through the teen's facial expressions like the pages of a book: amused, innocent, suspicious, curious, etc. until he landed on "terrified." Derek exhaled the scent of Boyd's blood and inhaled what he imagined as Stiles' fear.

A minute passed. Three more followed it. And then, as elusive as an itch he couldn't scratch, the scent went from imaginary to real. Without opening his eyes, without feeling the rain on his skin, Derek began to run.

* * *

"Scott," Isaac huffed, "Scott, wait."

Scott McCall dug his running shoes into the soggy leaves layering the forest floor and slid to a stop. "What is it?" he asked his pack-mate. His eyes flashed yellow as he looked around for their enemies.

Isaac jogged closer to Scott and pointed at the line where his sleeveless shirt overlapped his red shorts. Scott's gaze followed and he noticed the crimson splatter blossoming from his bellybutton. "What the hell?" Scott peeled his shirt up and discovered a tear in his skin stretching from his stomach, around his right side to his spine. It bled, slightly, and stung.

"How did you get that?" Isaac asked. "Your shirt isn't even torn."

"I…" Scott scoured his memory. He hadn't brushed against any bushes in the woods or bumped anything metal during the cross country meet. The beta expected to get slashed good when he caught up to the Alphas who killed Boyd and did who-knew-what with Stiles. He'd return the beating, of course, but none of that had happened yet. He and Isaac had been searching for an hour. Undoubtedly their teammates were already back on the bus and returning to the school.

Isaac's eyebrows creased in concern. "Doesn't hurt, does it?"

"No, it's just weird. I don't remember—"

A pair of howls interrupted their thoughts and made their hair stand on end. One came from behind them, the other in front. Scott and Isaac took off at a dead sprint without another word.

* * *

The cave that Stiles, Allison and Lydia found was littered with cigarette butts and empty beer cans. Allison studied the charred logs of wood leftover from a campfire, and decided that no one had been there in at least a month. The girls helped Stiles sit against the wall. The stone ceiling hung low but at least it was dry and slightly warmer than outside.

Stiles' blank stare and uncharacteristic silence unnerved Allison more than the claw wounds across his body. She rolled his shirt up under his armpit gently wiped the blood off of his right side. The heat hit her, then. Radiating heat rolling off of Stiles' skin. He already had a fever. All Allison and Lydia had were their dead cell phones and waterlogged purses.

"Stiles?" Allison pinched his chin between her thumb and forefinger. "Stay awake, all right?"

Stiles frowned at her. "Scott… Derek… are they ok?"

Allison forced a smile. "Of course they are. And they're coming for us. Any minute now they're going to –"

" _Allison_!" Lydia called. "You should come see this." The teen stood in the very back of the cave and stared down at a half-open wooden box. Allison looked over her shoulder and couldn't help but gasp. The box contained knives, thick ropes, black clothes, wire, garrotes and a half-dozen containers labeled in Latin. "Wolf's bane," Lydia whispered, interpreting the first tub. The second was labeled "Mistletoe."

"Oh my god," Allison whispered. "The killer – the killer's been here."

Lydia forced her fear back down her throat. "This is the Darach's lair."

* * *

Chris Argent dialed his daughter's cell phone number for the eighth time and for the eighth time he got her voicemail. He tried Lydia's number, then Stiles' and then, finally, took a deep breath and called Scott McCall.

Two rings later a voice gasped, "Mom, I can't talk right now. My friends are in trouble."

Chris stood up so fast that he knocked over his chair. "This is Chris Argent, Scott, what's going on?"

"Mr. Argent?" Chris heard the rain and thunder behind Scott's voice as he continued. "Mr. Argent, the Alphas attacked Boyd and Stiles during the cross country meet. Stiles survived and we think he, Allison and Lydia are somewhere in the woods."

Chris' boots were already tied. He put on his leather jacket and retrieved his car keys. "Keep the GPS on your phone on, Scott, I'll be there as soon as I can. You find my daughter, you hear me? You find Allison."

"I'm trying – Isaac, Isaac what?" Chris heard Scott struggle with the cell phone for a long moment, and then another voice spoke.

"Mr. Argent? It's Isaac Lahey. Have you ever heard of a werewolf getting wounded by, well, nothing?"

Chris locked his apartment door behind him and took the steps down two at a time. "What do you mean?"

"Scott has this long gash across his body that turned up out of the blue. He says it's fine but I know he's not running as fast as usual. Nothing has touched him but he's bleeding and it's getting worse."

Chris thought about it as he jogged to his truck. "I've heard of something similar – werewolves feeling sympathetic pain in the same place where a packmate was hurt. It's a rare phenomena, usually only seen in families."

"So…" Isaac took a deep breath. "So he's feeling someone else's pain. I doubt it's Cora's, they're not close. Derek and I are fine. Could it happen between a werewolf and someone who isn't a shape-shifter? Someone he's just as close to… like Stiles?"

Chris' throat tightened. "Or Allison."

* * *

Derek was so focused on Stiles' scent that he didn't sense the other presence until it was directly behind him. Lightning flashed, illuminating the entire forest. Derek pivoted, claws out and ripping downward, at the figure. It was too fast for him, or he was too distracted. The figure grabbed his wrist before he made contact.

"Why can't you ever just say 'hello'?" Peter Hale asked.

Derek pulled his hand back and stepped away from his uncle. "What the hell are you doing here?" he demanded, his voice up an octave or two.

"Cora called me. She said you needed help finding your friends." Peter braided his fingers behind his back and stood with his feet shoulder-length apart. His trench coat was just as rain soaked as Derek's leather jacket. "So, here I am."

Derek's expression shifted from shock to suspicion. "I'm sorry, but when did you ever give enough of a damn about my pack to put yourself in danger?"

"I'm turning over a new leaf." Peter smiled patiently. "I'm here to help, Derek. Do you want my help or not?"

* * *

In the cave, Allison spun away from the Darach's supply crate and knelt beside Stiles. "Lydia, help me, we have to get him out of here."

"And go where?" Lydia demanded. "There's a pack of Alpha werewolves hunting us!"

"So we should just wait here for an evil Druid to find us?"

"You said yourself that no one has been here for a month. Stiles has lost a lot of blood - he won't survive another hike through the rain." Lydia pointed into the mess of rope and containers of Wolf's bane. "At least here we have weapons, supplies. This might be the best place to make a stand until the others find us."

"Make a stand?" Allison yanked on her soaked, shoulder-length hair and then wrapped her fist around it. "Lydia, this is a death trap! What if—"

"She's right," Stiles suddenly croaked. He slowly rotated his head so that he could see both girls. "She's right, Allison. We need to – to use that stuff." He winced and hugged his wounded side. His skin turned another shade paler. "Put mountain ash around us… M-Maybe weaponize the Wolf's bane. You know, put it in a bucket above the cave entrance… Pull a rope and 'whoosh…'" Stiles mimed a waterfall. "Shower anyone who tries to – to come in…" The teen's voice drifted off into deep, desperate breaths. He was too exhausted to prop up his own head and when it fell to the side, his body followed. He collapsed onto the cave floor with a miserable groan.

" _ **Stiles**_!"

Stiles' eyes rolled back into his skull and he passed out.

The girls' backs were turned and they took no notice of the knife in the Darach's crate that began to move. Seemingly on its own, the knife dipped itself into a jar of penny-sized bits of mistletoe, then floated up to the ceiling where it hovered like a storm cloud.

* * *

Isaac Lahey's long, lean legs were a blur of motion that left a rolling wave of mud in his wake. It took all of Scott's strength to keep up. The pair didn't stop running until a cave came into view. Isaac put on the brakes and Scott nearly ran into his back. "Let's rest in here," Isaac said. "Make sure that wound doesn't get infected or something."

"We don't have time for that," Scott spit out through gasps of air. "Stiles—"

"You're no good to Stiles if you pass out, Scott." A flash of lightning helped the peeking moonlight illuminate the inside of the cave. Isaac led the way.

Three steps later, Isaac's shoe landed on a wide piece of sturdy wood partially camouflaged in the dusty ground. It must have straddled a log or rock or something, because stepping on the front part of the board caused the back half to snap up into the air. The catapult launched a cloud of purple dust at the werewolf. Isaac realized what was happening too late, and he inhaled the ground Wolf's bane. So strong was the dose that he fell instantly unconscious. He would've cracked the back of his head on the ground if Scott hadn't dove through the mouth of the cave and caught him.

"Isaac!" Scott yelled. "What the—"

"Scott?" said a new voice.

The werewolf froze. "Allison?"

Two shadows at the back of the cave began to move. Allison entered the light first, followed by Lydia. "Oh, thank God!" Allison dashed over to Scott and wrapped her arms around him. "You found us."

Scott winced when her arms pressed against his wound, but he said nothing about it. "Did you – did you just bomb us with Wolf's bane?" He shifted Isaac's body into a comfortable position on his back and stood up.

"I'm sorry, it wasn't meant for you. Lydia had the idea. Inspired, right? She found the same type of Wolf's bane that Peter made her use on Derek."

"He'll be ok, won't he?" Lydia squeaked. She poked Isaac's side with her toe.

"Found it - what the hell is this place? And where's Stiles?" Scott asked.

The girls' faces fell. "He's behind that crate," Allison said, pointing back over her shoulder. "Scott… We can't wake him up."

* * *

Deucalion leaned against an oak tree and lit a cigarette. "Well?" he said to his twin Alphas. "Give me some good news, boys."

"It's working," Ethan reported. "The humans found the cave, and we shepherded Lahey and McCall to it, too." Deucalion's face remained blank, neutral. The Twins exchanged anxious glances. "Kali's guarding the grenades… We know that Dora crawled back to Derek's loft to lick her wounds…"

Deucalion sighed and took a long drag from his cigarette. "And?"

Both twins gulped. "A-And…?"

" _What about Derek_?" Deucalion bellowed. "This entire endeavor is fruitless if we don't get Hale into that cave. I want him found, you hear me? I want him—"

A new deeper, guarded voice interrupted the Alpha's rant. "Now, now, Deuc. You have to be patient with teenagers." A cloaked figure emerged from the other side of the oak tree and stood between Deucalion and the Twins. He lifted his thick black hood and let it fall back on his neck.

Gerard's pale face looked silver in the moonlight, but his eyes were a fierce green. He stood straight and tall, chin up and hands steady. "You'll catch more werewolves with honey than with threats," the elderly Argent said to Deucalion. "Have I taught you nothing, **son**?"

* * *

 

Scott was used to seeing his friends hurt. How many times had he seen Derek covered in blood or Isaac nursing broken bones? Jackson, Cora, Allison, Boyd, Erica, Lydia, Danny, everyone else had been stabbed, paralyzed or hospitalized at one point or another. But, somehow, seeing Stiles unconscious, feverish, and bleeding from an Alpha's claws, that affected Scott more than anyone else ever had. He felt nauseous, dizzy. His heart ached. Part of him wanted to put his forehead on Stiles' chest and cry, part of him wanted to slit Kali's throat ASAP.

"I'm so sorry I got you in the middle of this," Scott whispered to his friend. "But I'll get you out. I promise." The beta peeled Stiles' cross country uniform up to his chin. He placed one palm on his friend's stomach and the other beneath his spine. The movement strained the mirror wounds on Scott's body and Allison and Lydia gasped when he started to bleed, too. Scott concentrated like Deaton had taught him; focused on sucking the pain from Stiles' body like a milkshake through a straw. Half a minute later the veins on his hands blushed black. Dark currents flowed from Stiles to Scott.

Two minutes later, Stiles opened his eyes and blinked up at his best friend. "Dude…" he whispered, "did you just heal me?"

Scott smiled fondly. "I wish," he said. "The pain – is it bearable?"

Stiles' fingers probed his side and though he winced, he didn't cry out. "Better… feels better…"

Scott helped Stiles sit up. He sat beside him, both of their backs against the cave wall. Isaac began to stir, and the girls went to help him. Scott noticed, then, that although there was dried blood on his body, the actual mystery cut from his own bellybutton to spine had completely disappeared.

"Boyd," Stiles whispered, "he's dead. Boyd's dead."

"I know," said Scott. "I found him."

"Everyone else… is everyone else ok? Derek?"

"I hope so." Scott sighed and leaned his head back against the wall.

Stiles massaged the bridge of his nose. "I tried to help Boyd but I couldn't. Helpless. I was so damn helpless. And they used me as bait to get you in this woods. Scott…?"

Scott looked sidelong at his friend.

"I don't like being helpless. At the end of the day all I really am is a burden to you, to Derek…"

Scott frowned. "Stiles—"

"I just wish…" Stiles hugged his wounds and took a long, steadying breath. His eyes unfocused and when they refocused they landed on the Darach's crate. "Sometimes I wish I had my own powers…"

* * *

Derek folded his arms against his chest and paced between two trees. "Anytime now!" he growled at his uncle.

Peter dropped down from a tree branch, splashing mud across his nephew's boots. "I think I see a cave about a hundred yards away. Maybe they're holed up in there."

"Worth a look," Derek agreed. He followed Peter down the hill. The two Hale's approached the cave with their noses on high alert. Derek sensed, right away, that Stiles' fear hung in the air. He was close.

"Wait," Peter said, his hand on Derek's shoulder, "I'll go in first."

This shocked Derek more than Peter's offer to help, but he consented and let Peter enter the cave ahead of him. His uncle stepped through, then instantly bounced back. "Or I won't go in at all," Peter sighed. He pointed down at the line of mountain ash guarding the entrance.

Derek walked up to the line. "Is someone trying to keep us out or keep something in?"

"Derek?"

The two werewolves heard something squeaking and grinding. Derek squinted and saw Scott and Isaac come out from behind a big wooden crate. Allison followed and after a nod from Scott, she kicked a hole through the mountain ash. Derek sprinted in. "Where's Stiles?"

A hand shot up out of a shadowy corner. "Here," Stiles grunted, "alive."

To everyone's surprise, including Derek himself, he ran over to Stiles, knelt on one knee and pulled him into a tight hug.

* * *

Gerard dropped his cigarette onto a brown leaf floating in a mud puddle. "I never planned on this, you know." He stomped his boot onto the leaf, drowning the fire. "I summoned you to Beacon Hills to stop the kanima, Deucalion. When that situation was… resolved… I expected you and your Alpha pets to be on your way."

Deucalion folded his cane up into one hand. "You know me, father. I'm always recruiting. And if the prophecies about Beacon Hills are right, then this is where I intend to look for potentials. Imagine it… Imagine the power I could steal from True Alphas. I'd be invincible. Truly invincible." Although he couldn't see his father, Deucalion winked in his direction. "That's what you taught me to fight for: self-preservation."

Gerard sniffed away a drizzle of black blood from his nostrils. His lips parted, revealing black stained teeth and gums. "You do your fighting," he said, "I'll do my rituals."

Suddenly the thunderstorm that had been raging for hours ceased all at once. The rain stopped, the lightning hid, the sky swallowed the thunder.

"That's Hale's sign," said Gerard. "They're all in the cave. Time to kill two birds with one stone. Three, if we're lucky."

Deucalion cocked his left ear towards the quiet sky. "His enchantments are better than yours, father. I'd be impressed if I didn't have the same abilities. I have a bit more dramatic flare, of course. The audience expects a good show."

Gerard ignored that. "Now. You keep your promise. Allison – leave Allison alive. The rest of them – the wolves, the humans, even our allies – you have my permission to do with them as you will. But Allison, I still have plans for her."

Deucalion rolled his eyes. "Yes, yes. Mother reminded me before I left England. I can't make any promises about your other son, though. If Chris Argent enters the woods tonight, he won't leave alive."

"Good," Gerard spat. " _Good_."

* * *

Derek gently probed the bruising skin around Stiles' wound with the palm of his thumb. His eyes blazed red, then squinted. "You need more than stitches," he said. "I bet she hit your kidney."

Either Stiles didn't hear what Derek said, or he chose to ignore it. He held a small yellowed, leather-bound book up to his nose. The group had started to unpack the rest of the Darach's things in the crate. Peter seemed as interested in the Celtic books as Stiles was. "I swear I've seen half of these Druid symbols before," Stiles muttered. "Not just the one at the bank… In the Beacon Hills public library there's a plate collection from, like, the 1800's or something, and this symbol is on them!" Stiles rotated the Darach's book so that the others could see the drawing: a triangle with two overlapping circles inside it. "And this one… look…" He turned a page and wedged the book into Derek's line of sight. "I've seen this same tree all over Memorial Hospital."

"Stiles!" Derek flicked the book into the teen's lap. "You're still losing blood! Will you hold still so I can bandage you up?"

Stiles pocketed the book. "Huh? What are you doing?"

Derek ripped the left sleeve off of his black leather jacket. "I just told you, I'm—"

"No, I mean…" Stiles' brain struggled to get words to his mouth. "Why are you doing that?"

"Like I said, you're bleeding."

Stiles blinked. "But why… Dude, you freaking can't stand me most of the time. I'm just a human, not one of your werewolf sidekicks."

Derek's nostrils flared and his eyes stayed suspiciously locked on his own hands. He muttered something, and only repeated it after Stiles pestered him for ninety straight seconds. "Because you're part of my pack," he said. "You're part of my—"

"Family?" Stiles offered groggily. "That's touching." Stiles sighed and closed his eyes. Unconsciously he leaned in closer to Derek and, suddenly, came wide awake. "Who's my good little sour-wolf, huh?" Stiles chuckled and patted Derek on the head. "You are, oh yes you are! You're my good little wolf, yes you are!"

Derek bared his teeth and hissed, sounding more like an infuriated cat than canine. It just made the delirious Stiles laugh harder.

"Scott? Derek?" Isaac called from the other side of the wooden crate. "I wasn't sure until now but…" The young werewolf scratched the back of his head and bit down on his cheeks. "I haven't been here but I've smelled this place before. These books, the bottles and boxes… I remember this scent."

Derek got up and stood at Scott's shoulder. Scott studied Isaac's pale face and asked, "Remember it from when?"

"From whom," Isaac corrected. "All of this stuff – I've smelled all of it on a person before. On the girl who rescued me from the Alphas. I think… I think this was her stuff. I think she was a Druid. This isn't the Darach's, it's hers."

* * *

Chris Argent wasn't as young as he used to be. Five years ago he would've climbed a tree in under a minute, weapons and backpack and all. Now it took him almost ten minutes to get to the top and the only supplies he took was his night vision binoculars. He made it, though. He reached the peak right when the thunderstorm finally let up. Chris raised the binoculars to his eyes and scanned the area.

Movement caught his attention. Two shadowy shapes jogged from east to west and joined a third. Chris didn't need the binoculars to know who they were. Kali and the Twins' didn't even try to dim their glowing red eyes. Why bother when they were at the top of every food chain?

Chris focused on a hillside behind the Alphas. The moonlight shone crystal clear now that the clouds had moved aside. Silver illuminated the entrance to a cave. Chris zoomed in as far as technology allowed and saw dozens of muddy footprints leading into the cave, none going out. The werewolves were surrounding Allison and the others.

" _Dammit_." The hunter shimmied down the tree. He shouldered his backpack and took two steps forward when the hair on the back of his neck stood straight up. It might have taken him longer to climb a tree, but Chris Argent was still lightning fast when it came to unsheathing his gun. He pointed it at the tree he'd just left, at the man now standing in front of it.

Alan Deaton raised his hands in surrender. "Easy, Mr. Argent," the veterinarian said, "you and I are on the same side tonight."

* * *

Inside the cave, werewolves and humans alike sat in a circle around the wooden crate. Lydia plucked out a vial of red liquid, provided a rough translation of the Latin on the label, then handed it to Scott. He sniffed it and immediately his nose wrinkled, but out of surprise rather than displeasure. "That, too?" Allison asked him.

Scott nodded. "This is definitely the same stuff Deaton keeps in his back closet. I saw him rub it on a dog's open wounds, but only once."

"Does that mean…" Isaac struggled to put his thoughts together. "Does that mean he's a Druid, too? Like the girl who saved me?"

"He's the Darach," Peter growled. "He's the killer." He slammed another book onto the growing pile at his feet.

"No!" Scott all but shouted. "He's a good man, I just know it. Maybe… maybe he and Isaac's friend are good Druids. He and Miss Morrell are brother and sister, maybe that girl was related to them, too?"

"Three good Druids…" Allison muttered, "…one bad one."

"I trust Deaton," Derek agreed. "He's saved Scott's life, helped me… Laura trusted him." The younger Hale rubbed his hand across his scruffy face. "Ok, let's talk about this later. We need to get out of here. Scott and I will check the perimeter and—"

" _Scott_ —!"

Violent coughing interrupted everyone's train of thought. Stiles struggled to sit up straight so that he could breathe easier, but he'd lost the strength. Derek and Scott rushed over, the Alpha on Stiles' right, the beta on his left. They propped him up and Scott immediately started drawing more pain out of his best friend. Black shadows crawled up his arm, across his chest, up his neck. Scott winced and then swayed, briefly. Derek suddenly yanked Scott's hand away from Stiles' skin.

"Careful!" Derek warned. "Don't take too much. It'll just weaken you, too."

Isaac stepped over the crate and joined his packmates. "I can help," he offered.

"I got it." Derek sandwiched Stiles' hand in both of his. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and the black color went from Stiles to Derek at double the speed Scott had.

Stiles' breathing evened, calmed. His face went from blotchy red to a damp pale. The movement ripped open the shallow scabs that had formed over his injuries and more of his blood dripped to the cave floor. "Oh, man," he gasped, staring up into Derek's green-brown eyes, "thanks… just taking the edge off… helps…" Stiles squeezed the werewolf's hand and Derek returned the gesture.

Derek kept his grip on Stiles and turned to Scott. "I'll stay with him," he said, "take Peter with you and…" Derek looked over his shoulder but his uncle wasn't there. He twisted left, looking around. "Peter?"

Peter Hale stood several yards away with an armful of Druid texts cradled in one elbow. Before any of them could react, he bent over and emptied half a bag of mountain ash into the hole Allison made in the original line. Peter grinned, turned on his heel and headed towards the mouth of the cave.

"Kali," he called, "it's ShowTime!"

* * *

 

Kali entered the cave with a warped cardboard box in her arms. She overturned it, and a half-dozen silver, aluminum can-sized canisters fell out. The Alpha tossed the box aside but Peter retrieved it, shook the dirt off of the rim and stacked the Druid books inside. "I thought I told you to move everything out of this cave!" he growled at Kali.

Kali folded her arms against her chest and pointed her nose at the ceiling. "You should've moved it yourself! What do you want with a White Druid's junk, anyway?"

"These texts are indispensable," Peter explained as he briefly exited the cave to put the box down outside. "There are hundreds of spells and rituals even I've never heard of."

While the two werewolves spoke, Lydia Martin stood and marched towards the line of mountain ash. Three feet before she got there, though, Peter raised his hand. A knife dropped from the ceiling, barely missing her toes. "Now, now," Peter said. "Don't make me release the rest of those."

Lydia, Scott, Stiles, Allison, Isaac and Derek looked up and saw fifty blades hovering in the air above them. Scott backed Allison up towards Stiles, and spread his arms to shield them both. To prove his point, Peter flicked his hand again and a second knife missed Isaac's shoulder by a centimeter.

Lydia stood her ground. "It's you, you're him," she whispered. Her eyes squinted tight. "I can see your real face, now. You're the Darach."

"No." Peter held up a forefinger and smiled politely. "I'm  _one_  of them. I can't take all of the credit. But, yes, I am a Dark Druid. You should've guessed,  _dumbasses_. How else could I have possessed Lydia and raised myself from the dead? I don't have my full power back yet but every time I slash someone's throat, I get a little stronger."

Derek's eyes flashed red. Fangs out, knees bent, head down, he roared and ran at the mountain ash barrier like a bull at a matador. He bounced off, but tried again. And again. It wasn't until Stiles shouted his name and both Scott and Isaac grabbed him that he stopped. Blood dripped from his broken nose.

Lydia's eyes filled with hot tears. "You're still connected to me. That's why I keep finding the people you killed. That's why I keep drawing oak trees. That's why I have the dreams and the hallucinations."

"Unfortunate side effects," said Peter. "And more clues you all missed. Honestly, if your whole generation is this limited I'm very concerned for this country."

With his arm wrapped around his wound and his knees shaking, Stiles fought his way to his feet. "Heather," he hissed, "did you kill her? You son of a bitch,  _d_ _id you kill her_?" His voice cracked on each syllable.

" _I did_."

Gerard Argent entered the cave. Deucalion stood behind him, the Twins on either side. The elderly hunter marched right up to the barrier, and grinned. "I was going to take you that night, Mr. Stilinski. I followed you and Mr. McCall to that party. But, well, when you left that sweet young girl alone in the wine cellar, I decided to seize the opportunity."

Stiles took two stumbling steps forward, swayed, and would've toppled over if Derek hadn't gotten both arms around him. "Why?" he demanded. "The sacrifices, the rituals – why are you doing this?"

"Why?" Gerard's jawline tenses and the muscles beneath his red cheeks twitched. "Because that mountain ash I swallowed almost killed me! Thanks to Heather and the other virgins, I can sleep a whole night without coughing up black sludge. And after tonight, I'll be completely healed." Gerard pointed at Derek, Isaac and Scott. "Three werewolves," he said, "three werewolves and I'm cured!"

* * *

Chris Argent didn't expect Deaton to be so fast, so quiet as he ran through the woods. Alan led him in the opposite direction of the cave where his daughter faced off against Alphas. They waded through a stream, slid down a valley and then climbed up a slippery rock face. "Where the hell are we going?" Argent demanded.

Alan stopped a minute later and pointed at a pair of black military jeeps partially hidden in the foliage. "We're going to save Allison, Mr. Argent. And the young werewolves under my care." Deaton fumbled around the rock until he found an oval boulder the size of a car seat. "Help me," he said, and shoved his shoulder against the boulder. "There's a tunnel into the cave."

* * *

Peter's eyes flickered blue. They shone so bright that they made his smiling teeth look like the sky. "Yes, you sacrifice the werewolves," he said to Gerard, "and I'll sacrifice the innocents." He gazed at Stiles, Lydia and Allison in turn. "None of you are murderers, as I recall."

Stiles was only on his feet because Derek held him there. "I will be after I kill you," he growled.

Kali held her stomach and laughed so hard that tears filled her eyes. "Do we have to kill this one?" she asked. She bent at the waist and picked up one of the silver cans. "We could use a jester."

Gerard ignored her. "You won't be completing your ritual tonight, I'm afraid," he said to Peter. "Allison is coming with me."

Everyone turned to look at the youngest Argent. She stood between Scott and Stiles and lifted her chin up high. "I would rather die with my friends than be your puppet," she spat. She braided her fingers with Scott's.

Gerard looked at the dusty ground and sighed. "Don't make me do this the hard way, Allison. I know I look like a weak and frail old man, but I have Oak Magic you can't imagine."

Allison stood her ground.

"So be it." Gerard raised one gloved hand, and grinned.

Blood spurted out of Scott's throat. He coughed and fell onto all fours. Allison fell with him, her arms around his shoulders. "Stop it!" she said to her grandfather.

Stiles made a choking sound. He seized, eyes wide, then vomited blood onto his own shoes. " _Stiles_ —" Derek gasped. The teen collapsed into the werewolf's arms. Another cough, a desperate look into Derek's eyes, and Stiles' rolled back into his skull. Derek held Stiles against his chest like he was a sleeping infant, and pressed his ear to his lips.

"Stop –  _stop it_!" Allison shouted.

Isaac had dropped to Scott's side, but he leapt up again and grabbed Lydia's arm when she shrieked. She coughed up blood and began to sob.

"Ok – Ok!" Allison held her hands up in surrender. "I'll come with you – I'll do whatever you want just – just stop hurting them! Please –  _please_!"

Gerard's hand fell to his side. He raised his opposite hand and gestured Allison forward with a wave of his forefinger. Tears on her cheeks, hands shaking, Allison exchanged a terrified look with the gasping Scott, and then stepped over the line of mountain ash. Aiden and Ethan escorted her outside.

Peter's face was bright red. "If I can't have the innocents," he said slowly, "I want the wolves to sacrifice. I want to get back my full strength tonight too, Argent. That was our deal."

"Then I suggest you go round up three other teenagers," said Gerard. Peter's nostrils flared but Deucalion cleared his throat, and Peter said nothing more. With a last glare at Derek and then at Deucalion, he left the cave.

Gerard picked up a canister and tossed one to Deucalion. "Would you like the honor, son?"

Deucalion stood between Gerard and Kali and explored the canister with his fingertips. "And these are…?"

"Weaponized wolf's bane," said Gerard. "These grenades will collapse this cave and fill every crevice with vaporized wolf's bane. This was Allison's mother's idea, may she rest in peace." Gerard tossed his grenade into the air and caught it again. "This stuff will kill a werewolf in under five minutes." He held the grenade in full view and shook it, mockingly, at his victims. "This is the part where you beg for your life, Derek."

Derek's eyes fired up red. "Bite me."

"Give my regards to your mother," said Deucalion. He yanked out a toothpick-sized pin and threw the grenade into the cave.

* * *

 

Chris and Deaton raced through the damp, humid tunnel under the forest hill. Flashlights held high, they fought through tree roots and avoided a dozen sinkholes. The two men were using a handsaw to get through a particularly dense mess of roots and fungus when they heard three booms that rattled the ground. "We're too late," Deaton whispered. The knowledge didn't stop them from doubling their efforts.

A minute later they reached an iron ladder that went up a shaft. Deaton climbed it first. Chris heard the scraping of wood, a couple grunts, and suddenly the shaft filled with a dense fog of dust and a violet smoke that Chris instantly recognized as wolf's bane. "Oh my God," Deaton gasped.

Chris didn't know at what point he actually stated giving a damn about Scott and the other werewolves' lives, but his heart tied itself in a knot. "They're already dead, aren't they." Deaton's boots disappeared into the cave and Chris followed him up the ladder.

He emerged through a rusty hatch at the bottom of a coffin-sized wooden crate. Past Deaton's knees were dim outlines of five people – three bleeding, coughing werewolves draped protectively over two humans. Desperate, Chris grabbed the female hand and pulled. Lydia slid out from under the literal dog pile. She was alive, but unconscious. Chris carried her down the ladder, set her down, and returned to find Deaton handing Stiles off to him. "Where's Allison?" he demanded, his voice cracking on his daughter's name. When Deaton didn't answer, he cursed and put Stiles down next to Lydia. Scott was speaking when he returned. The beta lay sandwiched between Isaac's back and Derek's stomach.

"It's Gerard," he whispered to Deaton. "And Peter. Peter Hale." His eyes slid shut. "Allison…"

Derek suddenly rolled off of Scott's back and kicked him towards the shaft. "Get them out of here," he pleaded to Deaton. Coughs burst from his throat as the wolf's bane vapor constricted it. Unable to speak, Derek focused on helping Deaton and Chris get the unconscious Isaac and Scott down the shaft, away from the cloud of poison. Derek lasted only a moment more and when Deaton returned for him he found the Alpha passed out, face down. It took until dawn for the two men to drag all five deadweight bodies through the tunnel and into the waiting Jeeps.

* * *

"Stiles? Stiles, sweetie…"

Stiles couldn't remember the last time someone stroked his hair like… like…

"That's it, wake up," a crisp, light voice urged him. "Wake up, Stiles."

The way she ran her fingers through his hair… it had to be…

"Mom?" Stiles whispered. His brown eyes peeked through swollen eyelids. "… _Mom_?"

There was a mother there. She smiled down at him looking sad but relieved. Her fingers felt cold against his skin. "It's me, Stiles," Melissa McCall said. "You're all right. You're ok."

Stiles would've fought the brief burst of tears if he had the energy. "What happened?" he whispered. "What's… what's going on?"

Melissa stood up straight. A filing cabinet crouched at her side and a wooden cabinet towered behind her. Familiar smells tickled Stiles' nostrils. He was in the hospital – no – the animal hospital. Deaton's veterinarian office. He lay on one of the metal tables, cushioned on all sides by pillows and blankets, fresh new clothes on the lower half of his bathed, clean body. "What happened is I stitched you up," Scott's mom explained. She fingered her handiwork from his bellybutton to his kidney. "You lost a lot of blood, Stiles."

"I remember…" he licked his dry, chapped lips. "The cave. Derek, Scott – is everyone else all right?"

Her fingers returned to his damp hair. "That's right. That was two days ago, Stiles. Everyone else is safe, they're fine… all things considered."

"Two days?" Stiles frowned. A million urgent things scratched at the inside of his head. "My dad, you have to call him, he'll freak out—"

"We did," Melissa assured him. "I told him that I took you and Scott on a spontaneous road trip to visit family. He agreed that with all of the weird stuff going on, it's a good idea." Melissa's jawline throbbed and she yanked her hair behind her ears. "I'm considering actually doing it, honestly. I wonder how many werewolves I can fit in my car…"

"Mom? Stiles?" Scott rushed into the room and straight over to his best friend's side. "Hey! You're awake!"

"Apparently," Stiles agreed. "You ok?"

Scott shrugged. "Almost healed. We're all still weak from the wolf's bane. Did you tell him yet?" he asked his mom.

She shook her head. "I was waiting for you. I thought you'd—"

"Good. Yeah. Um…" Scott sat on the table beside Stiles. "Give us a minute, will you, Mom?"

Melissa nodded. She squeezed Stiles' shoulder and then walked out the door, closing it behind her. Stiles adjusted his weight into a more comfortable position on the table. "Scotty? What is it?"

Scott looked everywhere but in his best friend's eyes. "We couldn't wake you up," he said, his voice so very quiet. "You were dying, Stiles. Derek siphoned so much pain out of you that he passed out. I knew, then, that I had no choice."

"No choice about—" Stiles didn't need Scott to say another word. He forced himself to sit up and started exploring his body. It didn't take him long to find the bite. It was right on the inside of his left arm.

Water hovered in Scott's eyes. "I couldn't let you die," he whispered.

* * *

If Allison held her breath, closed her eyes and focused on nothing but the ear pressed against her locked door, she could hear the conversation in the living room beyond. Peter Hale's voice was smooth, soft-spoken. He was harder to hear but even if he did speak up, it would still be near impossible to hear him over Gerard's rant. "It should've worked by now!" her grandfather bellowed. "After the third virgin I felt twice as strong as before. Taking the powers of three werewolves – one who was an Alpha – that should've increased my strength by ten!" Gerard coughed and spit. Allison imagined the black sludge draining from his nose.

"Hope that hurts," she whispered. Allison lay flat on her stomach and held perfectly still so that even the shuffle of clothing couldn't distract her.

Gerard answered an unheard question: "It means that they aren't dead! How the hell could they get out of that cave alive?"

Deucalion's slithering voice spoke up. "Two could be dead. Perhaps only one of them survived." Allison wasn't sure, but it sounded like Deucalion found that possibility amusing. "I hope it's Scott," he said, emphasizing the "tt"s. "He could still be of use to us."

"I think," said Peter, "that this is what you deserve, Gerard, for reneging on our deal."

"What you deserve is to die for killing my daughter," Gerard snapped. "Consider anything other than that a luxury. Remember your place, Hale. You're only alive as long as you're useful to me, so I'd mind my manners if I were you."

"I'll send the boys to check on the cave." Allison heard the hollow sound of Deucalion's stick scratching across the floor as he walked down the hall. "They'll dig up the bodies… if there are any."

Allison couldn't contain a smile or a tear. Scott was alive.

No, she reminded herself. Scott, Derek and / or Isaac were alive. And what about Stiles and Lydia…

Allison took a deep breath, reined in her thoughts and emotions, and returned her attention to her grandfather's voice.

* * *

Stiles stared at the bloody bandage around his left forearm. Part of him wanted to rip it off, part of him wanted to put on a long sleeve shirt and never take it off again. He almost forgot Scott was still standing there beside the table when his friend said, "Stiles, say something, dude. Anything." Scott took Stiles' wrist and forced it flat into his lap. "Are you… are you mad? I'm sorry but I had to. Your heart stopped — I didn't know what else… I'm—"

"Don't!" Stiles snapped. He winced at the tone of his voice, as did Scott. "I mean… Don't apologize, Scotty. Thank—" Stiles would've said "you" but Scott wrapped him in a bear hug so tight that all of Stiles' words were forced back down his throat. "How long ago did you do it?" he asked when Scott finally released him. "I mean, would the bite be healed by now?"

"Should be," Scott said breathlessly. "It's been about a day. Do you want the bandage off?" Stiles nodded, and Scott gently slid his fingernails between Stiles' skin and the adhesive tape holding down the bandage.

" _Ow_!" Stiles hissed.

Scott chuckled warmly. "Sorry, buddy. Can't help but take a few arm hairs out."

"No it's not that it's…" Stiles frowned at his arm. "I don't think the bite's healed. It kind of… it kind of stings."

Scott's frown matched Stiles'. "It shouldn't," he said. "I don't think it should…" He ripped the dressing off the rest of the way and both boys gasped.

The bite didn't heal. It was still there, and thick black blood oozed out of it. Scott sprinted to the office door and, his voice breaking, shouted " _Derek_!"

* * *

 

It was four in the morning when Allison woke up to a scratch at her window. She squinted, waited for the sleep fog to dissipate, and spotted a single clawed finger against the glass. The young hunter kicked her covers off. She ordered her heartbeat to slow down so that it wouldn't alert the werewolves guarding her door but it couldn't help but dance. Sliding up the window revealed a pale Scott McCall squatting on the thin sill. It also revealed the iron bars laced with wolf's bane that held her prisoner. She gasped Scott's name and squeezed her hand through the bars to clasp his.

"Are you all right?" he whispered.

"I thought you were dead!" Allison hiccupped, tears hovering between her eyelids. "The others – are the others all right? How did you escape?"

Scott's face fell. "Deaton dug us out and took us to the clinic. Isaac was dead by the time we got there and Derek died an hour later. That amount of wolf's bane… we had no chance."

"What about Stiles and Lydia?"

"Lydia's all right. Stiles…" Scott shook his head. "Stiles didn't…" He couldn't say the words.

Tiny drops of water accumulated into one big tear that tumbled down Allison's cheek. She imagined that their hands were their whole bodies and hugged his with hers. "I'm s-so s-sorry. I wish…" Allison claws the water off of her cheeks. "Oh god, Scott… Not Stiles…"

Scott tapped the bars with his claw. "I'm not up to my full strength yet," he said. "I can't – I can't get you out of here."

"It's all right." Allison sniffed. "You shouldn't be here, anyway. They'll come after you. Gerard needs a third werewolf and with the others dead, that just leaves you and Cora."

"I know." He squeezed Allison's hand even harder. "Listen, I'm going to hide out at the Hale house until I figure out my next move. I doubt they'll look for me there."

"I'll come find you," she said. "If I can figure out how to get out of here I'll come find you."

"No!" he said, quicker and sharper than she expected. "You need to get somewhere safer, somewhere public. Go to the police or find my mom at the hospital, all right?"

She could tell by the look on his face that this wasn't the time to argue. "I'm glad you're ok," she whispered. "I'm so glad you're alive."

Scott kissed her hand. "Get some rest. I'll contact you when I can." Before he left, Scott huffed warm air across the window pane and drew a heart with his fingertip, just like he used to do on her car window.

He was gone before she could even say goodbye.

* * *

Isaac was waiting for Scott at the McCall's front door. "Did you move him?" Scott asked.

"He's sleeping upstairs," said Isaac. "They both are. How'd it go?"

"I heard a half dozen heartbeats speed up when I was talking to Allison. They heard. They think you're dead… Hopefully," Scott said.

Isaac rolled his eyes. "This is our grand plan? Faking all of our deaths?" he asked.

"Derek got the idea from Ms. Blake, actually." Scott folded his arms against his chest and took a deep breath. "When Gerard and the Alphas go to find me at the Hale house, we'll have our own trap ready." He rubbed his eyes.

Isaac put his hand on Scott's shoulder. "Get some sleep, will you?"

"After I see Stiles." Scott climbed the steps and peeked through his bedroom door.

Stiles was fast asleep, lying on his side in Scott's bed. A thin rivulet of black blood dripped from his ear, a second one from his nose. The dark color made his skin look extra pale. The bandage around the wolf bite was soaked through.

Derek had dragged Scott's desk chair over to the bed. He sat with his head against the wall behind him, his lips slightly parted as he snoozed. Derek's right hand gripped Stiles' right wrist. When Scott tiptoed closer he saw that even in his sleep, Derek was still drawing out Stiles' pain. Snake-like apparitions crawled from Stiles' wrist, up Derek's hand and behind his sleeve.

Scott yawned. Stiles looked comfortable, safe, protected. He decided to crash in his mom's room for a least a couple hours. Maybe, if he was really lucky, his mind would be too exhausted to conjure nightmares.

He'd almost turned away when movement caught his attention. Scott blinked and leaned in closer towards his two friends. Maybe he was hallucinating, maybe he was already asleep and dreaming, but he swore that right before his eyes, the black trails of pain were exiting Derek's body and traveling into into Stiles'.

"What the hell?" Scott wondered aloud.

* * *

Kali returned to the Alphas' penthouse at dawn. Gerard sat at the head of a wooden table with Deucalion on his left and Peter Hale on his right. All three men were dressed in slick suits and looked well rested for such an early hour. "Come, my dear, sit," said Gerard, gesturing to the chair across from him. "What did you find out?"

Kali remained standing. "I followed McCall straight to his house. You're right. He was lying. Lahey's alive. I picked up Derek's scent, too."

"They're trying to set a trap for us at the Hales'. Young people think they're so clever," Gerard chuckled. "It'll be the death of them. In this case, quite literally."

"Now what do we do?" Kali asked.

Deucalion answered with a smile. "Now we take the bait."

* * *

Derek started awake the second Scott touched his hand. "What—"

"Look!" Scott hissed at him, keeping his voice low to avoid waking Stiles. He pointed at Stiles' wrist. "You're pushing pain into him, dumbass! What the hell were you thinking?"

"What? I wasn't – " Derek stared at his hand like it had betrayed him. "Scott, I wouldn't – I don't think we can even do that!"

"Then what—" Scott went still and stared down at his sleeping friend. He knelt, then, and clasped Stiles' hand in both of his. Derek started to ask Scott what he was doing but the beta silenced him. A minute later – less than one – thin tendrils of black pain leeched out of Scott's body and travelled into Stiles'. Scott immediately dropped Stiles' hand and took a step back. "Oh my god…"

"He's – he's drawing out pain?" Derek stepped back too, as if being within arm's reach of the teen would hurt him. "How is that – does that mean his body's adjusting to the bite?"

"How the hell should I know?" Scott gestured to the black blood leaking out of Stiles' ear and nose. "Doesn't look like it."

Stiles stirred, then. He coughed twice. Miniscule drops of black blood appeared on his pale lips. Half a second later he sat straight up in bed with his arms wrapped around his stomach. His body shuddered. Derek got a trashcan to his bedside just in time for Stiles to vomit black blood.

* * *

Normally it took Danny the entire lunch period to eat his ham sandwich. He preferred talking to Ethan to eating. Actually, he preferred Ethan to pretty much anything. But Ethan was quiet today. He sat on Danny's left just staring at a small container of macaroni salad. Danny made himself stay quiet for several moments, in case Ethan just wanted some silence. But soon he couldn't wait any longer. Curious, he asked Ethan if he was all right.

Ethan jumped slightly. He lifted his fork and poked at his food. "Can I ask you something?"

Danny hadn't heard that tone of voice yet. "Yeah. Of course."

"Have you known Scott for a long time?"

"Scott McCall? Yeah – since I moved to Beacon Hills in third grade, I think. I mean, I didn't know him well until we started playing lacrosse together. We don't hang out much outside of that."

"Stiles and Lydia too? Allison?"

"Um…" Danny finished chewing the bite in his mouth and swallowed. "Stiles I know a little better. Lydia Martin has talked to me, maybe four times. Allison just moved here a year ago. She's nice, I guess."

"Hmm," Ethan hummed.

Danny glanced around the cafeteria. "That's weird… None of them are here today, huh?"

Ethan must not have heard him. "Scott and Stiles – are they, you know… good guys?"

Danny shrugged. "Sure – they're nice to everyone, fun to hang out with."

"But are they  _good_  good?" Ethan struggled to find the right words. "Like… Can you give me an example of what they're like? What they're about?"

Danny's eyebrows bounced. "Yeah. Yeah, I can, actually."

A small smile cracked through Ethan's stressed expression. "You didn't have to think about that long."

Danny finished his sandwich and wiped the crumbs out of his hands. "Well, there was this one time McCall really knocked me hard on the field. At the next game – this was so cool of him – at the next match he passed me the ball every time he got it. Literally – literally every time. It was his way of apologizing, I guess."

"And Stiles?"

"Stiles – wow, I haven't thought about this in a long time." Danny smiled down at his lap before he looked back at Ethan. "He probably doesn't even remember this. We were just kids. 10 years old. 9, maybe. I was new in town – it was the first day of school. You know how it is."

"Yeah," Ethan sighed.

"I was new to California. You know how in different areas, different cities, clothes mean something different than in other places? Well I was wearing this red belt – like,  _bright_  red. All of the other boys had tan belts. You know… at that age all I really understood was that girls were boring."

"I think even straight guys thought girls were boring at that age," Ethan chuckled.

Danny laughed. "Yeah. Well, the other kids were picking on me. It was the first day of school so I was already freaking out, and then they were making fun of… Well, it was rough."

Ethan gently patted Danny's knee. "So, what happened?"

Danny's smile widened. "There was this scrawny, hyperactive little kid who sneaked me to the art room while everyone else was at recess. I was, like, so relieved because I knew what his plan was, right? We were going to find some tan crayons or paint or something and make my belt the 'right' color."

Ethan nodded. "Wow – that was cool of him."

Danny waved his forefinger. "But that's not what happened. He took his belt off and wrapped red duct tape all around it. He wore that for the rest of the day. Whenever anyone teased me he made some smart ass comment about how cool it was to wear a red belt." Danny shook his head and stared vacantly at the wall, at the memory. "I'll never forget that."

Ethan stared at Danny's profile. "Stiles?"

"Yeah, it was Stiles. He's a great guy." Danny returned his attention to Ethan. "So, are you going to tell me why you asked that? Why so curious about Scott and Stiles all of a sudden?"

Ethan's face darkened and he returned to poking at his food. "This probably won't make sense to you but… Do you ever wonder," he said softly, "if you're on the wrong side?"

* * *

 

Lydia returned to the veterinarian's office to find Deaton and Chris Argent taping a white sheet of paper the size of a school chalkboard to the floor of the waiting area. "We took Stiles to Scott's house," she reported before they could ask.

"How's he doing?" Deaton asked.

Tears sprung to Lydia's eyes but disappeared with one stubborn blink. "Derek said—" She coughed and cleared her throat before continuing. "Derek said that it's j-just like Paige. A little slower, maybe, but…" She shook her head.

"I'm sorry." Deaton's voice softened. "He's a good kid."

"He really is," Lydia said. Her face went slack and her eyes widened slightly as if she'd just realized that fact for the first time.

"Did Scott find Allison?" asked Chris.

"He left when I did. He's going to try the apartment first. Said he'll call."

Chris nodded and returned his focus to the paper. "When the Alphas go to the Hale house I'll go after Allison," he said to Deaton.

Deaton plucked a couple pencils out of a container on the desk. "We might have to get her out before then, for this plan to work."

"You have an idea for the ambush," said Lydia. She tossed her purse aside and joined them on the floor.

Deaton stretched his arm forward to the center of the paper and drew a square the size of a chess board. He began to narrate his sketch: "Let's say that this is the house and here's the tree line." A circle on the outer edge of the paper represented that. "Let's assume that the Alphas will approach the house from all sides. They'll want to corner Scott, so we have to corner them first."

"How?" Lydia asked.

Chris took a pencil and drew a circle around the house, a larger one around the first, and then two more, each getting larger like the layers of a wedding cake. He labeled them A, B, C, and D, then drew four lines that cut the whole picture into eight sections like slices of a pizza. The front door of the Hale house was within the first circle, A, and the first slice, 1. Chris put a star in the section and labeled it A1. Lydia's eyebrows bounced. "Trip wires?" she wondered, pointing to the lines. "Uh… Spider webs?"

"Lines of mountain ash," Argent said. "We'll dig shallow, narrow ditches into the ground no bigger than rain gutters, fill them with mountain ash and cover them with leaves and brush."

"To keep the Alphas out?"

"To keep the Alphas in." Deaton sketched an "x" at each point where a line crossed a circle. "We'll leave a space – no more than 6 inches – open. Once an Alpha gets past that point, a human will fill it in with mountain ash."

"Like on the Titanic," Lydia whispered. The two men looked at her, waiting for an explanation. "When the ship was sinking there were doors that sealed off each compartment as it filled up with water. You're going to seal the Alphas in each circle."

" _We_ ," Chris corrected. "We need everyone's help on this, Lydia. Not only to make the lines but to break them if one of our team gets trapped."

Lydia stretched her forefinger forward and landed on the center of the "pizza," right in the middle of the house. "And once you get them sealed inside… then what?"

* * *

Stiles puked for almost ten minutes straight. Every minute or so he was able to catch his breath and adjust his position over the trash can before it began again. There was nothing for Scott and Derek to do but wait. Scott sat beside him on the edge of the bed rubbing comforting circles against his back. Derek held the can still by folding his hands over Stiles,' who gripped the rim. Finally, when Stiles was empty and the dry heaves had run their course, he groaned low in his throat and collapsed forward.

" _Shit_ —" Derek managed to set the trashcan aside and catch Stiles before he face-planted into the floor. "Stiles – hey!" He cradled the teen against his chest and instantly began to sweat from the fever coming off him.

Scott knelt on the carpet and leaned towards them. His eyes closed, Stiles reached blindly for his best friend and Scott gripped his hand tight. "Stiles?" Scott whispered.

"Hurts," Stiles hissed through clenched teeth. "God, Scotty, it  _hurts_."

Derek's chin quivered briefly. He put his hand on Stiles' chest and started to draw the pain out of him. Stiles flinched, though, and nudged the hand aside. "Don't," he whispered.

"Stiles—"

"Don't bother… I'm dying…"

Derek looked up at the ceiling so that Stiles wouldn't see the tears in his eyes.

"Just hold me," Stiles pleaded, settling his cheek against Derek's heart and squeezing Scott's hand. "Just hold me."

Derek realized, with a sharp flash of déjà vu, that he held Stiles the exact way he held Paige right before she died.

Right before she begged him to kill her.

"Man, your heart is loud." Stiles winced and lifted his head off of Derek's chest. He ripped his hand out of Scott's and plugged his ears tight. "Calm it down, Derek – it's so –  _it's so loud_!"

"You can hear his heartbeat?" Scott asked. When Stiles flinched from the noise, he whispered, "Stiles, can you hear mine?"

Stiles' hands fell into his lap. "Yeah," he mumbled. "And I hear another one downstairs. Somebody's whispering… praying…" Stiles frowned as he listened. "Isaac?"

Scott and Derek exchanged shocked looks. "If he's not turning into a werewolf—" Derek began.

"…then why can he hear like one?" Scott asked.

"Do you guys smell that?" Stiles muttered. His left hand started to shake and his eyes dilated. "Smells like – is something burning?"

"What—"

The seizure hit like an earthquake. Both Derek and Scott had witnessed seizures before, but nothing like this. Stiles' body vibrated so fast that their werewolf eyes could barely keep up. When his limbs struck out, out of his control, they were so strong that both Scott and Derek were knocked aside. Isaac appeared at the bedroom door, summoned by Stiles' deafening scream of pain. All three heard bones snap, smelled fresh blood, heard Stiles' heartbeat quadruple in speed. And then, as suddenly as it began, the episode was over. Ninety seconds had passed like ninety minutes. Stiles lay flat on his back in the center of the floor heaving for breaths.

Stiles opened his eyes – eyes that were bright, rose-petal-on-fire  _ **RED**_.

* * *

 

Lydia wished she was useful for more than picking up pizza for Chris and Alan. The window of the pizza shop looked dark from the parking lot but the neon "open" sign was still on. Lydia shrugged and got out of her car. She'd rather pick up the pizza, anyway. Better that than loading wheelbarrows of ground up mountain ash into the Argent's truck.

Lydia knew that something was wrong the moment she stepped through the door. The floor of the pizza shop had tiles but this building had carpet. It didn't smell like pizza. It smelled like yellowed paper and soured ink. Everything felt old.

A used bookstore. It happened again. Lydia aimed for the pizza shop and ended up downtown in a small building overflowing with decaying books. She took a step forward, knowing what she was about to see.

The body was slumped over the cash register. A woman no younger than sixty, sixty-five. Claws stuck out of her still fingertips and a spark of yellow remained in her sightless eyes. Scabs had started to form over a bite mark on her shoulder. Lydia realized with a start that the woman hadn't been a werewolf long before she was sacrificed by Gerard or Peter. Not even long enough for the bite to heal.

Lydia screamed.

* * *

"Wait, what? Say that again," came Deaton's voice through Scott's cell phone.

Scott put Deaton on speaker so that Derek and Isaac could also hear. "I said that Stiles' eyes are red!" he repeated. "Like,  _Alpha_  red."

"That's impossible." The three boys could almost see Deaton shake his head. "When a human is bitten by a werewolf he either becomes a beta or he dies."

"Or turns into a kanima," Chris added behind him. "And there are plenty of other shape shifters we've never encountered."

"Are you sure it isn't just the light? Maybe he has golden eyes that look a little… orange?"

"It's red," Isaac insisted sarcastically. "Want us to send you a picture?"

"How is he feeling?" Deaton asked.

Derek stepped closer to the phone. "He passed out again. But I've been watching him and I swear he's healing quick."

"Is there still black blood?"

"Yes but not half as much." Derek looked at the two betas beside him in the hallway. "He's getting better – we can all feel it."

There was silence on the other line for a long minute. And then Deaton said, "I'll do some research, boys. But remember, we have to get this trap at the Hale house set up by tomorrow night. That's when the Alphas will go after Scott."

Isaac's left eyebrow lifted. "How the hell do you know that?"

Scott answered for Deaton. "It's the full moon."

"Exactly."

Suddenly the McCall's front door burst open. So engrossed in the conversation were the werewolves that none of them heard the person's approach until he or she was inside. "Stay here!" both Derek and Scott barked at Isaac, who took a defensive position outside of Scott's bedroom where Stiles slept. The two wolves raced downstairs. Scott reached the bottom step first and a pale, sobbing Lydia Martin threw her arms around his neck.

"Dead body," she hiccupped against him. "D-Dead werewolf. They're still going after werewolves – they're making people werewolves and then killing them, Scott!"

" _Shit_." Derek fished his phone out of his pocket.

Scott made sure Lydia had her footing and then held her at arm's length. "Which one – Gerard or Peter? What did you see?"

"Damn it, Cora, pick up!" Derek growled at his cell. " _Pick up_!"

* * *

It was 7AM and Alan Deaton didn't bother knocking on his sister's office door. He didn't bother with a greeting or small talk, either. He marched right up to the guidance counselor desk and said, "I need a favor."

Marin Morrell wore a sliming black and gray pant suit. Calmly she swallowed a mouthful of yogurt and then said, "I don't recall owing you a favor."

Alan had been up all night, and looked it: ruffled clothes, bloodshot eyes, fingers stained with grounded mountain ash. "You don't recall me stitching up Enis?"

"Enis died. You failed."

Deaton raised his fists and mimed choking her. "I told you Deucalion murdered him!"

"And I told you I don't believe that."

"I've got to invest in video surveillance," Deaton muttered to himself. "Look, Mare, it's not even a favor, it's just a question: have you ever heard of a werewolf skipping the Beta status and going straight to Alpha?"

Marin frowned. "You mean being born an Alpha? Of course not – werewolves become Alphas by killing, you know that, or a Beta can transform into a True Alpha like your little protégé. Either way they start as a Beta."

"Damn it." Deaton dragged his fingers down his face. "I wish Elyse was still alive. She'd know. Maybe I can find another Druid Priestess…"

Marin threw her breakfast in the trash. "Deucalion ripped her apart. No other Priestess is going to risk his wrath. If she'd just left Isaac to die at that bank we'd all be better off." Marin folded her arms against her stomach. "Just out of curiosity, who did Derek bite?"

"Stiles. And it wasn't Derek, it was Scott."

"Scott?" Marin walked around the desk to confirm the truth in her brother's eyes. "Scott bit him?"

"He had no choice. Stiles would've died."

"Alan…" Marin's voice dropped an octave. "We have records – rumors, really - of maybe three or four True Alphas in all of recorded history. Do you know how many of them sired Betas?"

Alan's eyebrows crept up his forehead. "No."

"None." Marin's blank expression morphed into genuine concern for Stiles. "Alan, we have no idea what happens when a True Alpha bites someone. Whatever Stiles is turning into… we might not have a name for it."

"He might not turn into anything. His body has been fighting the bite for two days. I'm not convinced he'll survive another hour."

"I bet he'd be dead already if Derek bit him – if anyone other than a True Alpha bit him. I bet Scott's unique power gave Stiles' body the ability to adapt to the bite."

"So what do we do?"

Marin shrugged. "This is new territory, Alan. I suggest you don't let him out of your sight, and take notes."

Alan glared at her and turned to leave. Before he got out the door, Marin spoke up. "I heard that Stiles was dead. Killed from the cave collapse."

He rounded on her with an uncharacteristically furious face. "Don't patronize me, Marin. We know that people are being turned into werewolves and immediately ritually sacrificed. Lydia found the bookstore clerk yesterday, and Scott's lacrosse coach and his English teacher were both found dead this morning, and they all had claws. And now Cora is missing. That means the Darachs didn't believe our lie that Derek, Scott and Stiles are dead. If they did they'd just come straight for Scott to finish their ritual."

Marin wore a smug, amused expression. "That banshee sure comes in handy. Too bad she won't be any help now that Gerard is up to full strength. Against him, Peter and the Alpha Pack, Alan, your little wolves don't stand a chance."

"I should warn you about something. If Stiles dies, nothing will stop Derek and Scott from going after Kali and avenging him.  _Nothing_." Alan walked right into her personal space, right up to her face. "And give Deucalion this message from me: come to the Hale house tonight and he'll see that the pack stands more than a chance, because it has me now."

Marin's jaw dropped. "You can't. You can't do that, Alan. If you use your powers to fight you'll give up being an Emissary, give up your immortality!"

"So be it. There's no higher calling for our kind than helping a True Alpha."

"There are so few Druids left! Even fewer Emissaries!"

"Scott is worth it. I'll see you tonight, sister." Deaton slammed the door on his way out.

* * *

 

When the school bell rang, announcing the last call for students to get to their first period class, Ethan barely heard it. He stood at Danny's locker like a puppy waiting for its owner. Danny hadn't shown up yet, or answered Ethan's texts. And the werewolf wasn't a hundred percent sure, but he thought that the barely perceptible scent of fear hovering near that locker was Danny's.

"Hey!" Aiden called from the other end of the hall. The twin stood outside the classroom door with his backpack over one shoulder and a suspicious look on his chiseled features. "Come on!"

"I'm coming," Ethan said. "Just… I'll be there in a minute."

Aiden stepped away from the door so that their classmates wouldn't hear. "Ethan, he's probably just home sick."

"He'd text me."

"Then he's really sick, whatever. Why are you so worried?"

Ethan looked at the double door that led to the sunlit parking lot.

Aiden took two more steps closer. "Ethan, seriously, this has gone too far. Get down here right now or I'll tell Deucalion how attached you've gotten to this guy and you know – you  _know_  he won't be happy about that."

Ethan sensed it, then. Deception. An off-color smell, if there was such a thing, combined with a heart flutter. He faced his brother and didn't bother to keep his voice down. "You already did, didn't you?" On numb legs he marched right up to Aiden's face. "You told him about me and Danny."

Aiden's nostrils flared and his jaw muscles twitched. He didn't deny it.

Ethan heard his own heart beat faster. "You son of a bitch. Gerard and Peter took him, didn't they? He – he could be dead already!"

No regret showed on Aiden's features. "Forget him!" he growled. "You should be focusing on tonight, on the showdown with Derek and his pack."

Ethan's eyes were red. He bared his teeth, took a deep breath and pivoted around. He punched his fist through a locker as he walked down he hall.

Aiden didn't chase after him but called, "Ethan, if you turn your back on the pack – on me – don't bother coming back. If you're not on our side, you're on theirs!"

"I'm on Danny's side!" Ethan busted through the doors and left.

* * *

Isaac hated being the bearer of bad news. Especially bad news that concerned the Alpha who sired him and the True Alpha he was loyal to. All things considered he'd rather be at math class, where he was supposed to be on a Friday morning. Of course, if he was wishing for things he'd start with his brother and his father alive, well and happy.

He found everyone in Scott's bedroom. Stiles was still comatose in the bed and Lydia had curled up with him for the night. She slept, snoring softly, spooning against Stiles' side. Scott's hair was still damp from the shower he took after he returned from the Hale house. He needed a nap, having spent the whole night with Chris Argent creating the mountain ash trap. Derek sat in a chair at the head of the bed, his face in his hands and an open newspaper at his feet. Not knowing how else to break the silence, Isaac said, "I'm sorry about Jennifer."

Derek looked up at him with red-rimmed eyes. "Did you find Cora?"

Isaac shook his head. "I looked everywhere for her, I swear. Whoever took her must have masked her scent."

Ironic timing, Isaac's sentence, because right then the three werewolves picked up a new smell. They straightened up at the same time. They extended their claws at the same time. Hair sprouted, fangs descended, eyes changed color all at the same time. Derek crouched by the bed and put his hand on the sleeping Stiles' shoulder. The movement awoke Lydia. She asked what was going on and then, smartly, kept quiet when Scott shushed her. The True Alpha approached the window while Isaac guarded the bedroom door.

"Who is it?" Derek whispered.

"One of the Twins," said Isaac. He sniffed at the air and frowned. "Just one."

"I think it's Ethan." Scott reached the window, opened it and looked down at the front lawn. "Definitely Ethan."

The Alpha was kneeling in the grass with his hands behind his head. Submissive, surrendered. "I just want to talk!" he yelled at the McCall house. "Please! I need your help."

* * *

Peter had washed his hands three times but, still, he smelled Cora's blood on them. Not just from when he kidnapped her as she walked to the McCall's house, but from when he pierced her neck to see her memories. Gerard and Deucalion were interested only in logistical information: where the Hale pack was, how they escaped the cave, what they planned and who was involved. Peter, however, fixated on another fact.

Scott, a True Alpha, had bitten Stiles, who seemed to be both dying and transforming into a werewolf at the same time.

The Alphas didn't care. Gerard didn't care. Peter didn't care about Stiles, but he was curious. That curiosity was why he spent most of the night reading through the pile of Druid texts he'd rescued from the cave. In the fourth leather-bound, decaying old book, he read this:

_Although True Alphas rarely if ever bite a human unless the situation is life or death, Emissaries discourage them from siring any Betas because the survival rate is zero. What is born of a True Alpha's bite is not fully understood, but observant Druid Priestesses have come to one very important conclusion and subsequently coined the term "Optimal Alpha" (Optimalpha). The Optimalpha, born of a True Alpha, is infused with the five most treasured powers of Virgins, Warriors, Healers, Philosophers and Guardians. The few Optimalphas who survived the transformation were soon hunted down and scarified by Dark Druids eager to kill five birds with one stone. By murdering an Optimalpha the Darachs become virtually invincible._

Peter left the Alphas' penthouse without a word. He was on his own mission, now.

* * *

Allison woke up in the dark, confined rear of a van. She didn't remember leaving her bedroom under her own power, so the only explanation for how she ended up there was the bump on the back of her head. She wore a tight, long-sleeved black t-shirt, jeans and black boots and the hair tie she usually wore around her wrist was still there. Allison focused on it – on what was familiar. Then she tied her hair back, took a deep breath and sat up.

She wasn't surprised to see Cora Hale in an unconscious heap on her left. On her right, though, was Danny Mahealani wearing that classic, cartoonish "am I dreaming?" expression. The left shoulder of his cross country uniform was soaked in blood. Danny was poking at it, and Allison had to say his name half a dozen times before he finally heard it.

"Allison?" Danny's skin was pale, sweaty, cold.

"Did they hurt you?" Allison gestured at his shoulder.

Confused, Danny looked back and forth between Allison and Cora. "Where are we?"

"I don't know. I'm so sorry, but I don't know." Allison approached him like he was a rabid animal. "You're bleeding, Danny. Let me see."

"Allison, I think…" Danny winced when he peeled back his uniform. "I think something bit me."

* * *

 

The whooshing sound deafened Stiles. He found that it stopped when he held his breath, but the thumping behind it made his skull vibrate. With a start he realized that the noise was nothing more than his breathing and his beating heart. With a second start he realized that he was awake. He opened his eyes and saw that the world was rose-tinted.

He tried to shout, "Derek?" but it just came out as a squeak. Stiles swallowed the dry air in his mouth and tried again. "Scott? Derek?"

Scott's sheets and pillow were damp from Stiles' sweat. He wore his friend's black Dave Matthews Band t-shirt and an old pair of his jeans that were lose at his waist. Sitting up wasn't as hard as he expected. He went from horizontal to vertical quicker than usual, as if his abs were stronger. Kicking off the sheets sent them flying off the bed. Stiles turned, put his bare feet on the hard wood floor and got a nose full of scents courtesy of the ceiling fan above: deodorant, day-old pizza, leather, grass-stains, soap, the lilacs on Melissa McCall's front steps, the chlorine in the pool across the street, the fried rice from the Chinese place four blocks away. Stiles flexed each muscle from his toes up to his eyebrows. He felt sore but not broken, sleepy but not weak, hungry but not lacking energy. Memories returned, then. The cave, the animal hospital, vomiting into a trashcan, holding onto Derek for dear life, seizing and hearing Scott say something about red eyes before he passed out.

"Red eyes…" Stiles whispered. He bolted towards the nearest reflective surface: Scott's bedroom window. A pair of fiery eyes looked back at him. " _Holy shit_."

He heard Derek, then, saying "Give me one good reason why I should trust you." Stiles looked down through the window and saw something almost as strange as his red eyes. Derek, Scott, Lydia and Isaac were circled around Ethan. The Alpha's nose was bleeding. His hands were behind his back but not bound. He looked desperate, but not scared. Not for his own life, at least. "What the hell did I miss?" Stiles wondered out loud. He headed for the stairs but right when he walked out of Scott's room he walked into Peter Hale.

"Oh, good. You're awake," said Peter. His thin lips spread into a smile that belonged on a Halloween mask. "I was going to murder you in your sleep, but this will be much more fun."

Peter punched Stiles so hard that the teen sailed through Melissa McCall's bedroom and bounced off her window. He got to his feet but Peter caught him around the throat and slammed his head against the glass. Fireworks of stars burst out of the corners of Stiles' eyes. Claws pierced his neck and warm blood trickled down his back. "Those red eyes suit you, Stiles," Peter said. "An Optimalpha's eyes. It's almost a shame that I have to kill you, really. You're a rare specimen. A virgin-warrior-healer-philosopher-guardian werewolf."

"What?" Stiles managed through his shrinking windpipe.

Peter knocked Stiles' head against the window so hard that the glass cracked. "If it makes you feel any better, at least I'm getting your powers instead of Gerard. He's such a dick, don't you agree?" Peter tightened his grip. Stiles couldn't breathe. "Just relax," Peter whispered. "I like you, Stiles. I'll make this quick."

Stiles had been around death more than most 16-year-olds. When he considered his own, which wasn't infrequent, one thought always comforted him: reuniting with his mother. But when Peter's hands tightened around his throat, he didn't think about seeing his mother. He thought about how he wouldn't see his dad, Scott, Lydia, Derek and all of his other friends. It was that thought that reminded him that he had the ability to fight back, as well as the inspiration to.

Stiles' fingernails extended. His teeth elongated and sharpened. Three quick moves and Peter was flying through the air. Unfortunately, Stiles didn't know his own strength yet, and also neglected to separate the other werewolf from himself. Peter took Stiles with him when he crashed through the window.

They fell two stories. Peter landed in the grass on his thigh. Stiles landed on the sidewalk on his head. He rolled and came to rest on his back. Miniscule shards of glass rained down from what remained of the broken window. Peter roared and fought his way back up to his feet. He slashed his nails towards Stiles' throat like ten missiles. A shadow blocked Stiles' view, then. A dark silhouette leapt over him and tackled Peter. Stiles rotated his throbbing head, expecting to see Derek, Scott or Isaac. But it was Ethan. He kicked Peter aside and then flipped backwards, taking a defensive position in front of Stiles. Peter charged at the Alpha like a wild bull, and Ethan stood his ground.

" _Stiles_!" Scott slid across the grass on his knees and took his friend by the shoulders. "Oh, god," he gasped when he saw the blood on the sidewalk.

Derek sprinted over. He crouched between Stiles and the two fighting werewolves, guarding the younger man while Scott put pressure on his head wound. Isaac and Lydia ran up last. At the moment, Peter was winning. Ethan was bleeding more, limping more. But then he managed to get the upper hand, literally, when he clutched Peter's head between his fingers. The Alpha hesitated, then made eye contact with each person in the crowd. "I hope this proves that I'm on your side," he said. And then Ethan simultaneously broke Peter Hale's neck and slashed his throat. Peter slumped to his knees, sightless eyes wide and surprised, then he landed face-down in the grass, never to move again.

"Well," Isaac said, "that'll do it." He looked at Derek for confirmation but just then, Lydia swayed, clutched at her chest and fainted. Isaac caught her, shuffled her so that his arms were beneath her back and knees and carried her over to the group. "She's breathing," he said, even though they could all hear it. "Must have been too much blood for her to handle."

"Or she just experienced some mental whiplash," Stiles theorized. "She was still connected to Peter." Stiles looked up at Ethan and nodded towards him. "Thank you. You saved my life."

Ethan said nothing. He just stood there like a soldier waiting for his next order.

"Take her inside," Derek told Isaac. "I got him," he said to Scott. Stiles protested but didn't struggle when Derek lifted him up into his arms and carried him back to Scott's bedroom.

* * *

 

An hour before sunset, the war council, of sorts, assembled in Scott's kitchen. Derek sat at the head of the oval table with the True Alpha on his left and the Optimalpha on his right. Isaac sat beside Stiles, across from Lydia. Deaton sat at the opposite end. Ethan stood behind him with his claws in the back of the Emissary's neck. He gasped at the memory he experienced through Deaton's eyes and when he let go, Ethan stumbled back against the wall with tears in the far corners of his eyes. "Oh my god," he whispered, "it's true."

Lydia retrieved a box of Kleenex and handed it to Deaton. Blood leaked from his wounds but, otherwise, he was all right. "Yes, it is," he said to Ethan. "Deucalion murdered Ennis."

Ethan shook his head like he was trying to dislodge water from his ears. "I wouldn't have believed it if I didn't see it."

"Will the other Alphas believe you?" Chris Argent asked. "If you tell them what really happened will they turn on Deucalion?"

Ethan collapsed into the chair between Deaton and Chris. "They have no reason to trust me right now. Deucalion will deny it, and the others will just assume I'm lying. The only way to prove it would be to let them see the original memory, too."

When Deaton didn't immediately point out how that was too risky, Scott spoke up. "If you go near them they'll rip your head off."

Deaton said nothing, just stared, lost in thought, at some fixed point on the table.

"We're not going to have time for small talk tonight, anyways," said Derek. "This is a showdown. This all ends, tonight."

Stiles scratched absently at the gauze taped to the back of his head. "Oh, come on, this can't be the only epic werewolf fight I get to participate in."

"You? You're not going," Derek stated in a voice that left no room for disagreement.

Stiles did disagree, though. "I'm sorry, what? I've got claws, now, why don't I get to play?"

Derek's nostrils flared. "If what you heard Peter say is right, and you are an Optimalpha that a Darach could sacrifice to get every power he'd ever need, there's no way I'm letting you anywhere near Gerard."

"Just because Peter knew that I'm an Optimalpha doesn't mean that Gerard does."

"We shouldn't take that risk. Right, Scott?" Both Derek and Stiles looked expectantly at Stiles, waiting for him to take a side.

Scott looked back and forth between them. "I think…" He sighed, then took a deep breath. "I don't want Stiles or anyone else to get hurt, but we need all the help we can get. Especially if we're going to save Allison, Cora and Danny."

"That should be our priority," Ethan growled. "Not avenging Boyd—"

"And Heather," said Stiles.

"And Jennifer," said Derek.

"And Erica," said Isaac.

"Get your revenge later," Ethan said in his "Alpha" voice, "save Danny now."

"He's right," said Chris. "We should treat this like a rescue mission, boys. That means we don't do anything foolish until Allison and the others are safe."

"What if the only way to get them to safety is to do something foolish?" Deaton wondered aloud.

"Like what?" Lydia asked. "We need a plan B, here. And a C  _and_  a D."

The silence lasted a solid three minutes. Each person around the table looked at the other. Blank stares were shared, shrugs were exchanged. And then Stiles raised his hand like he had a question in Economics class. "If Gerard's new priority is to kill me so that he can level up or whatever, why don't we just use me as bait?"

Suddenly, Scott and Derek stood up so fast that they rattled the whole table. "What do you smell?" Isaac asked.

"Is that…" Stiles struggled with his new senses. "Is that blood?"

Ethan stood, too. "It's Morrell."

Deaton led the way through the kitchen, the living room and out the front door of Scott's house. Marin's car was parked cattycornered in the grass. She'd opened the door and appeared to be struggling to push herself out. They all saw why. Wounds from a dozen werewolf claws on her legs and arms bled onto the grass. She stood, finally, pale and shaking. Deaton called her name and she looked up at him, relief on her face. Almost immediately she collapsed onto her side.

Everyone gathered around the half-conscious woman. She started answering questions they hadn't asked yet. "They know," she gasped. "They know about Stiles. Here," Marin held a book out to Deaton, "read this. You have to protect him, Alan, do you hear me? He's more important than Derek, even more important than Scott."

Deaton sat beside his sister and squeezed her hand. "Don't talk, Mare. We'll get an ambulance."

She rolled her eyes. "Alan, for once in your life will you just listen to me?" She pointed at the book. "This belonged to Elyse. I stole it back from Peter. It's all about Optimalphas. It says that an Optimalpha, Alan, is the only thing that can defeat a Demon Wolf."

"Demon Wolf?" said Chris.

"Deucalion," said Derek.

"Stiles." Marin waved him over and he knelt beside her. "You must get strong, Stiles. For your friends, for Beacon Hills. It's up to you to defeat Deucalion." Scott walked up behind Stiles and put his hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry," Marin said to Alan. "This is my fault. I let this get so out of hand, so out of balance. I should've neutralized Deucalion before he got so powerful."

Water hovered in Deaton's eyes. "I should've been there to help you."

"I should've believed you about Ennis."

"Wait, wait – I'm a healer now, right?" Stiles wrapped up Marin's hand in both of his. He shut his eyes, squeezed them, and concentrated on nothing any of them could see. A minute passed, and he cursed. "I can't do it," he apologized. "I can't control – I don't know how to—" Her pain marched up into his veins but he couldn't replace it with anything.

"It's ok." Morrell squeezed Stiles' hands. She looked up at the Twin. "Ethan, you have divide the rest of the Alphas. You have to convince Aiden that Deucalion killed Ennis."

The Alpha's expression remained stony. "He won't believe me."

"Make him." Blood trickled from between Marin's teeth. She struggled to summon the breath needed to speak. "Ethan, you and your brother feel each other's pain. You have to try to get him to feel your emotions, hear your thoughts, see your memories."

"How?" Ethan's face turned red with frustration. "How do we do any of this?"

Spasms of painful coughs catapulted blood at them. Marin returned her attention to her brother. "I wish I had more answers. I'm sorry, Alan. I'm so sorry."

By the time he said "It's all right, Mare," her heart had stopped. Deaton's bottom lip vibrated. His nose twitched. When he leaned over and kissed her forehead, no one else heard him whisper, "I'll see you soon."

* * *

 

Chris Argent placed the old leather book on Scott's kitchen table and opened it, reverently, to the first page. "Shit," he said. He turned to the second page, the third, then just opened the text in eight more different places. "Son of a bitch. It's Latin. It's all in Archaic Latin."

Half of the room turned to Lydia. "I'm on it," she said. Scott walked around the kitchen opening drawers until he found a pencil and a pile of yellowed printing paper.

Chris got out of his chair so that Lydia could sit in it. "Where are you going to start?"

"Isn't there an index?" Stiles asked.

"Not in a book this old."

Ethan looked over Lydia's shoulder. "Is it at least divided into chapters?"

Lydia looked. "Yeah – I'll transcribe the chapter headings first." She looked up at Deaton, who stood at the sink washing his sister's blood off of his hands. "Is there anything I should look for first? Something I should focus on?"

"If you find a section called 'How to Defeat a Darach and a Demon Wolf,' I'd start there," Isaac offered with his usual sarcasm.

"We need to help Stiles figure out his powers," said Derek. "That's the priority. Look for key words: Optimalpha, healer, warrior—"

"Virgin," said Stiles with a tall roll of his eyes.

"Hey. It's almost time." Scott pointed at the clock above the sink. "We need to get to the Hale house before Gerard does."

Stiles put on his red hoodie and zipped it up. "All right. Let's go." He got two steps closer to the living room when Derek's arm dropped down like a guillotine and blocked him.

Stiles glared at him. "I'm going to help Allison, Danny and Cora. We don't have time to argue about this." Expecting Derek to start yelling, Stiles flashed his red eyes at him.

But Derek's expression wasn't angry, it was worried. "Someone needs to stay here with Lydia," said Derek.

Stiles' cheeks flushed. "Don't do that," he whispered. "Don't use my feelings for Lydia to get me to do what you want."

"He's not wrong," said Scott, joining them. "She has to stay here and work on that book, Stiles. Someone should stay with her."

"What about Deaton? He'll be just as useless as me on the battlefield."

"We're not saying you're useless, Stiles. Lydia needs someone with werewolf strength."

Stiles glared at Scott and Derek for a minute more, then finally relented. "Fine." He dug deep into his jeans pockets and took out the keys to his jeep. "Good luck," he said, and handed the key ring to Scott.

"We'll be back as soon as we can, all right?" Scott squeezed Stiles' forearm, then tugged him into a quick hug.

"Be careful," Stiles said. He looked up at Derek from over Scott's shoulder. "All of you."

Derek nodded. He held Stiles' eye contact for a moment more, then called to the others, "Let's go." Scott, Derek, Isaac, Deaton, Ethan and Chris piled into Stiles' jeep and Derek's car and headed for the Hale house.

If Stiles had turned around instead of watching the two cars go down the street, he would've seen Lydia take a black cell phone out of her jeans pocket and send a text message.

Kali's phone beeped. She read the message and then looked at Deucalion in the passenger's seat of the van. "They're on their way."

The Demon Wolf savored the final swallow of his tea before speaking. "Excellent. We should be on ours, then, don't you think?"

Kali climbed out of the driver's seat and held the door open for Gerard to go in. "Thank you, my dear," said the elderly man. He carefully adjusted his seat and the mirrors. "We'll see you and Aiden tomorrow evening, then? If you're both still alive, of course."

Kali forced a patient smile. She looked like something nearby smelled awful. "Assuming you are, too."

Gerard gave her a sweet, grandfatherly smile. Without another word he and Deucalion drove off.

Stiles opened up the McCall's pantry and scanned it from top to bottom. "Spaghetti?" he asked Lydia. "Macaroni and cheese?"

Lydia didn't look up from the book. "No cheese. Too fattening."

Stiles shifted to the fridge and freezer. "Leftover lasagna? Oh, right, cheese. Um… Tater tots? Lydia?" Stiles turned to see if she was listening.

He walked right in to the tip of a knife. Lydia plunged it hard into his stomach the rest of the way.

Scott parked Stiles' jeep fifty yards from the Hale house. They were late. Kali and Aiden were already in the front yard with Cora, Danny and Allison. Although they could only see by the headlights, Scott was sure that Gerard and Deucalion weren't there. The True Alpha shared a worried look with Derek, then led the way into the yard.

Cora was unconscious. She lay on her side in the short space between Aiden and Kali. Allison and Danny were awake but gagged. Allison's eyes were wide, pleading. She'd be shouting if she could. Danny was sweating, shaking, staring up at the rising moon. While Allison was tied with rope, he was in chains. He'd made it through the transformation and now the werewolf was facing his first full moon. As Derek, Scott, Isaac, Deaton, Chris and Ethan approached, Kali flicked open her claws and pressed them to Allison's neck. Aiden did the same to Danny.

The Hale pack marched forward until they were within twenty yards of the Alphas. Scott broke the ice: "Where's your boss?"

"Where's your Optimalpha?" Aiden asked.

Kali bared her teeth. "And where's your little sister?" she asked Deaton. "I hope she didn't bleed to death too quickly. I wanted her to suffer for betraying us."

The Druid opened his mouth to speak but Ethan stepped in. "Kali, Aiden, listen to me. Deucalion lied to us. Ennis didn't die because of Derek. Deucalion killed him. He murdered him – I saw the memory myself."

Kali rolled her eyes and tightened her grip on Allison. "This is your brilliant plan to save your friends? Lying to us?"

"Listen to my heartbeat." Ethan risked taking a few steps towards them. "Deucalion. Killed. Ennis."

Everyone's attention was on the Twins, so no one noticed when Allison managed to use her teeth to get around the gag. "Get to  _Stiles_!" she shouted at Scott. " _Gerard went to_ —"

Kali smacked Allison so hard into the dirt that it knocked her out.

All Hell broke loose when Allison hit the ground.

Chris Argent pulled out a pair of .45s and shot Kali in the shoulder. She roared and retreated into the woods with Isaac chasing after her. Ethan growled and dove at Aiden. He tackled his brother, and they rolled across the yard. Deaton ran to Cora, Danny and Allison and dropped a protective circle of ground mountain ash around them. Derek sprinted for the jeep and Scott, after making sure that Mr. Argent was taking care of Allison, followed.

While Derek drove like a thief to the McCall house, Scott tried to call both Stiles and Lydia. "No answer," he reported. " _Damn it_!"

"We shouldn't have let him out of our sight," Derek said between clenched teeth. "Shit, this was a diversion."

Stiles stared, confused, at the knife Lydia stabbed into his gut. His limbs prickled like they'd fallen asleep. Shock, he realized. Blood soaked through his sneakers. She was smiling at him. Sweetly, politely, strangely. Eerily. "Lydia, what—" She yanked the blade out and he screamed. His body was healing, quickly, but that didn't stop the pain. He tried to speak again but Lydia grabbed his throat and slammed his head against the fridge.

"Haven't you people learned," Lydia sneered, "that I don't stay  _dead_?"

"Peter?" Stiles whispered. He tried to pry Lydia's hands off of him but she had werewolf strength. "You son of a bitch, get out of her!"

Peter used Lydia's plump pink lips to smile. "I would love to," he said. "I don't want me to be in this body anymore than you do but my real body is dead, thank you." Peter winced and shook his head. "God, I'm starving – does this girl ever eat?"

"What do you want?" Stiles stared at the ceiling, unable to stand the look of pure evil in Lydia's eyes. "Whatever it is, whatever you want, just leave Lydia out of this."

"What I want I can't get from you this time." Peter turned Stiles around and shoved him face first against the fridge. He twisted his wrists to hold him still. "But you can help me get it." Using Lydia's arms, Peter wrestled Stiles through the living room and out the front door. Gerard and Deucalion stood outside a black van at the end of the driveway. Peter and Stiles moved to the center of the yard and then stopped. "Here's your Optimalpha, just like I promised," said Lydia's voice. "Now, Gerard, use that Druid mojo to resurrect my body. Keep your end of the bargain or I'll twist Stiles' head off right here and now."

"Oh, shit." Stiles struggled but Peter kicked the muscles behind his knees and made him kneel.

Gerard casually stuffed his hands into his pockets. "We did have a deal, didn't we? You give me Stiles, I give you your life back. But tell me, Mr. Hale, after you leave the poor girl's body and return to yours, what's to stop you from coming after us to reclaim your prize?"

Lydia pressed the knife to the back of Stiles' neck. In her sweetest voice she said, "We'll just have to cross that bridge when we come to it, won't we?"

Gerard turned to his son. "Do you like that answer, Deucalion?"

The Alpha's face twitched. "I do not." Faster than any of them could conceive, Deucalion ran between Stiles and Peter and lifted Lydia into the air by her neck.

"No!" Stiles yelled. "Don't kill her –  _don't kill her_!"

* * *

 

Gerard Argent leaned against the van and smiled at the scene before him: Stiles Stilinski, a wounded and bleeding Optimalpha, kneeling on Scott McCall's front lawn and begging Deucalion not to hurt Lydia Martin, who was possessed by Peter Hale. "I'm a healer, right?" Stiles reminded Deucalion. "Scott's bite gave me the abilities of a healer, a warrior, a guardian, a virgin and a philosopher, right? Let me try, please. Let me try to get Peter out of her. Please."

Deucalion's blind eyes looked up at Gerard for permission. The elderly hunter shrugged. "If he agrees to come quietly. The ride might as well be pleasant."

Deucalion returned his attention to Lydia. He tightened his grip on her throat and forced her to her knees in front of Stiles. She coughed as Peter tried to speak through her. Whether to beg or bargain, no one cared. Peter would be gone by either Stiles' abilities or Deucalion's claws. Either way. "Thirty seconds," Deucalion told Stiles. "I'll give you thirty seconds to exorcise Hale from her body. Then you're coming with us, and she's dead."

Sweat slid down Stiles' chest and stung when it touched the knife wound. He leaned forward until he was staring right into Lydia's eyes – unfamiliar eyes, eyes tainted by the Darach's power. Not knowing what else to do, not knowing anything at all, really, Stiles cupped her white face between his shaking, blood-stained hands. He remembered what Deaton taught him: just believe. Stiles shut his eyes and summoned the memory of the mountain ash but, instead of letting it flow out of his hands, he imagined it coming into his body. His eyelids parted. Water hung from his eyelashes. Lydia's eyes were a blazing blue and she squirmed in Deucalion's grip – squirmed away from Stiles' hands. It looked like black snakes slithered from Lydia's body to Stiles'. Black rivulets that expanded beyond their blood vessels and felt like spiked ice cubes piercing his skin.

A second passed. Two more followed it. The blue in Lydia's eyes faded. And then Stiles heard Peter Hale's voice shouting curses inside of his own head. Instinct kicked in, and Stiles pushed Hale back into Lydia. Her eyes flashed blue again, and Deucalion squeezed tighter.  _No_ , Stiles thought, and maybe said aloud, he wasn't sure. He remembered what Morrell taught him: keep going.  _Keep going_ , he told himself.  _Keep going_. What was hell if not watching a friend he loved die in front of him? Stiles redoubled his efforts. But instead of imagining the blackness going into him, he imagined it floating up to the sky like smoke.

Lydia squeaked. She went still in Deucalion's grip but when he let her go she caught herself, settling on her knees, Stiles' hands still against her cheeks. He looked deep into her now familiar eyes and saw Lydia, only Lydia. Stiles was so mesmerized by her eyes that he didn't notice that he was bleeding faster, harder. He didn't notice that his body was so exhausted that if he was still human, he'd be dead. He didn't notice because of her smile. She said his name with that smile.

"Stiles." Lydia folded her hands over his. "Oh my God. I was so lost. The last thing I remember—"

"It's ok," he soothed. "I found you." He winced. His arms dropped into his lap and he wrapped them around his stomach.

"You're hurt." Lydia examined his stomach, then realized where they were and who was there. "Stiles, what – what's going on?"

"You'll be ok," he said. He was whispering, but not on purpose. "I…" Stiles shuddered. Blood dripped into the grass. And then, without another word, Stiles fell forward into Lydia's arms. He landed against her shoulder, his hands knuckles-down in the grass, unconscious. Déjà vu hit Lydia as he hugged him against her, just like she held Jackson's body all those months ago. The tears, too, were the same.

"Enough of this." Deucalion snatched Stiles out of Lydia's arms and dragged him to the van. Gerard held the back door open and the werewolf dumped the unconscious boy inside.

Lydia got to her feet, mouth open, protesting but unable to find the words. Helpless as the van started and pulled out of the driveway. Hopeless when it disappeared down the next street.

Half a second later, Derek drove Stiles' Jeep into the yard.

* * *

Kali, the trees, everything looked red to Isaac's eyes. Red with anger.

Isaac chased Kali from the Hale house all the way to the cave she'd trapped him in just a few days before. What was left of it, at least: rocks that looked like they'd been arranged by an infant. It was on those rocks that Kali turned around. She crouched, bared her teeth and eyes, and roared at the young beta. Isaac slid to a stop and listened for his packmates behind him. He hoped for two but expected one. When he heard no footsteps or heartbeats, and smelled no one familiar, Isaac still looked over his shoulder for back-up.

"Shit."

There was no one there. He was facing an Alpha alone. For a moment, Isaac considered high-tailing it back to his friends. But then he remembered Kali smacking Allison into the ground and his temper flared up again.

He attacked.

* * *

"We're too late. Damn it!" Scott rolled down the Jeep's passenger-side window. "Are you all right?" he shouted at Lydia.

Her only answer was to point down the street. "Left on Edwin. They're in a black van, license plate ARG 1701 – GO!"

Derek hit the gas pedal. He didn't obey the stop sign at the corner and turned onto Edwin at 40 mph. Three blocks ahead a black bumper turned right. Derek followed. They got close enough for their werewolf eyes to read the license plate: ARG 1701.

Scott crawled out through the window and perched on the hood of the Jeep like he was surfing on it. "Get closer!" he yelled at Derek. Before Derek could respond, the van screeched to a full stop so suddenly that there was no way to avoid it. The Jeep's front bumper slammed into the van's back, and Scott went flying into the rear doors. He left a Scott-shaped indent in the car before landing, unconscious, flat on his back on the hood.

Derek cursed. He threw the Jeep into park and kicked open the door.

Deucalion was waiting for him. Before Derek had time to wonder how incredibly fast the other wolf had to be to move from one car to the other in under two seconds, Deucalion lifted him up by his throat and smashed his head through Stiles' windshield.

* * *

 

Scott recognized the scent that the late Victoria Argent loved: wolf's bane. Wolf's bane burning like incense, the smoke creeping down his windpipe, paralyzing his lungs, poisoning him. Eating him alive. The True Alpha lay flat on his back, staring at the open vent in the ceiling thirty feet above. He willed his body to rise, planned to get a running start, leap from wall to wall to climb up and either close the vent or get to safety beyond it. Scott managed to roll onto his side, even lift his head a few inches before his face crashed back down against the cement floor. He wasn't sure how long he'd been in the whitewashed room but it was long enough. Long enough to incapacitate the wolf inside him. To leash it, cage it. Scott could barely move. His ears were heavier than buildings.

He couldn't smell anything but wolf's bane or hear anything other than his racing heart. It was with another sense, an unnamed one, that he understood that someone was behind him. He rolled onto his back, then onto his opposite side where his nose crashed into someone's knee. "Derek?" Scott grunted. He bumped his forehead against his packmate's thigh. " _Derek_!"

The Alpha started awake. Dull eyes swept over Scott's half a dozen times before they finally settled, finally recognized him. Derek didn't speak. Couldn't, yet. He inched his right arm across his waist, reached for Scott's outstretched hand and gripped it with all of his might. Scott barely felt the pressure. "You're ok," he lied. "We're ok, Derek. It's ok."

Derek nodded once, then shook his head three times. Nose wrinkled, lips slack, he glared up at the vent spewing poison down at them. Red eyes explored the whitewashed room and found nothing more remarkable than the iron door on the opposite side. He circled back to Scott and squinted. Squinted at something beyond Scott's ruffled brown hair.

Scott let go of Derek and rolled once again. His own knee connected with a nose – Isaac's bleeding nose. The beta was still unconscious from whatever or whoever he'd endured. Scott stretched until he grabbed the closest bit of Isaac – his left ear. Isaac didn't respond when Scott pulled it.

"Stiles…" Derek croaked. "Scott w-where's… where's Stiles?"

"Dunno." Scott licked his dry, chapped lips and tried to speak a full sentence. "I just woke up – he's not here – not here – wherever here is. Wolf's bane. They're… They're going to kill us with…" Exhaustion strangled him. Darkness marched from the corners of his eyes to the center. Scott's grip on Isaac slackened, failed as he passed out.

"Scott?" Derek's healing abilities started to kick in. He went from 5% strength to an impressive 8%. That allowed him to crawl to Scott's side and hold onto both his and Isaac's forearms. Derek's eyes rolled back into his head and his cheek crashed to the floor before even one tendril of his packmates' black pain reached his fingertips.

* * *

Aiden sometimes wondered, sometimes truly worried that both Gerard and Deucalion were so powerful that they could hear his thoughts. So he hesitated for a whole sixty seconds before he entered the building because, for the first time, he had thoughts that he didn't want them to hear. He knew what he would find. He'd smelled all of the blood half a mile away. Seven heartbeats met him at the threshold. The three strongest were, supposedly, Deucalion, Gerard and Kali. Three more were slow but steady, weak but working. Scott, Derek and Isaac, he assumed. The seventh had to be Stiles. Erratic. Erupting. Speedy like it was rolling down a hill and then sluggish like wading through quicksand. Stiles whose screams suddenly went off like a fire alarm. Lights in the hallway flickered and Aiden knew that the Optimalpha was enduring Gerard's sick game of How Many Amps of Electricity Won't  _Quite_  Kill a Werewolf.

Aiden took a deep breath and tried to cloud the fear and betrayal in his scent with anger and victory. Back straight, smile twisted, he burst through double doors. Gerard, Kali and Deucalion turned from the trembling figure on a makeshift operating table and greeted him with wide grins and cocked eyebrows.

"He's dead," Aiden announced before they could ask. "I ripped his spine out of his body with one hand."

"Bravo," Gerard congratulated him. He celebrated by stabbing a bolt of lightning into Stiles' chest. The teen's body arched off of the table, but he didn't make a sound. "There's a special place at my side for any man who would kill his own brother for his cause."

Kali stood next to Deucalion with her slim arms folded against her chest. "I nabbed Lahey for you," she reminded him.

Gerard ignored her. "How about pizza, son?" he said to Deucalion.

The Demon Wolf cocked his head to the side. "Father, your cholesterol."

The elder Argent laughed. "By tomorrow night I'll have an Optimalpha's powers. The last thing I have to worry about, son, is my health." Gerard turned off the generator under the metal table. "If you don't mind, Aiden," he said, gesturing to the still body, "I'd appreciate it if you'd reunite Mr. Stilinski with his friends. It would be cruel to make him watch us eat dinner."

* * *

Being dragged down the hallway by his shirt collar was the highlight of Stiles' day. There wasn't an insane Darach burning his insides. There weren't straps holding him on the table or an equally insane Darach treating him like a lightning rod. There was just the flickering lights above, the soothing journey of his lower body sliding across the floor, the knowledge that his friends were, at least, alive. A walk in the park. Aiden pulling him like a suitcase was practically a walk in the park. Delightful.

Stiles heard a swishing sound like elevator doors. Aiden stuffed something down the front of his shirt and then tossed him, bag-of-potatoes style, into a white room that smelled like death. Stiles heard noise that might have been his name, felt cold hands touch him that might have been his pack's. He felt his body pulled in two different directions before it went in a third and, before long, he found himself cradled in Derek's arms with his head in Scott's lap and Isaac's wide puppy eyes examining him from his feet.

It took several minutes for his brain to realize that Scott was talking to him. "—a sign! At least blink, Stiles!" he said.

Stiles obeyed. He blinked. He breathed. Blinking and breathing wasn't supposed to be so hard. He hurt, but he did it.

Derek groaned with relief and lay his forehead on Stiles' chest.

Stiles counted to one hundred, slowly, then spoke. "Ache everywhere," he whispered. "Even taste pain…"

Derek clenched Stiles' t-shirt. Water hovered on the cliff that was Scott's eyelid. "You'll be fine once we get you home," Scott said.

"Tomorrow night."

"What?"

"I heard Deucalion say tomorrow night," Stiles said to Scott.

Derek lifted his face and hovered over Stiles' trembling lips. "What about tomorrow night?"

"The moon's already up so they can't kill me yet. They s-said I have to start bleeding when the moon rises and d-die the moment it sets. Something special about Optimalphas…" Stiles shook from either pain or fear, or both. He clawed at Derek's sleeve. "I'm going to die all night… I'm going to d-die all n-night!"

A noise rose from Scott's chest that sounded like a combination of a sob and a growl.

Suddenly, Stiles froze. His eyes were wide but not seeing, his breath waited in his lungs. A heartbeat later he grabbed Derek's hand and yanked it against his own throat. "What's the cliché…?" Stiles whispered to Derek. "Put me out of my misery? Put me out of my misery, Derek. Kill me."

* * *

 

Chris Argent spread a weathered paper map across the McCall's kitchen table. "Here," he said, and circled a road that dead-ended in the woods. "The distillery's here. Aiden said that's where Gerard intends to kill Stiles – at the same spot where Ennis declared vengeance."

Allison stood beside her father with her arms held tight against her chest. "According to the Druid texts they need a full night of moonlight to properly sacrifice an Optimalpha, so we have until sunset tomorrow to come up with a plan to rescue them."

"Scott, Isaac and Derek might already be dead," Cora pointed out. Her pale face looked gaunt, haunted by the situation. "There's no reason why they would keep them alive."

"If that were the case," said Deaton, "why did they bother to capture them instead of slitting their throats right on the lawn? Their plan involved them, too. Even if it's just a minor role."

Lydia stepped closer to the table. "That distillery has been abandoned for years, right? So when did Deucalion and the others get around to building an underground base below it?"

Ethan sat at the end of the table with Danny reading Druid texts beside him. "They didn't have to build it, the space was already there and used when the distillery was working. The basement is huge – uses up that entire hill – twice as long and three times as wide as the structure above it. I've only been there once, though, so I know how to get in and how to get out, but that's about it. We'll have to rely on our sense of smell to find the others."

"And then?" Chris Argent collapsed back into a wooden chair. "We haven't exactly had much luck so far, guys. They've been two steps ahead of us and all of our best fighters are the ones we're trying to rescue."

"I think we've been quite lucky," Lydia said with pluck in her voice. "We're alive. That's luck, and it isn't dumb luck."

"She's right." Deaton started emptying a satchel he brought from his office: vials of herbs, bullets laced with wolf's bane, night-vision goggles, etc. "Now, come on. We need everybody's help if we're going to save them. We need everyone's ideas. Who's first?"

When no one spoke up or raised a hand and the silence went from expectant to awkward, Danny slowly flexed his forefinger toward the ceiling. "New here, I know," he said, his voice a bit shaky but his resolve firm. "Allison and Ethan have filled me in as best they can and I learn pretty quickly, to be honest. You all probably don't have much of a reason to take me seriously, really, but… I think I have an idea."

He held up one of the books. Lydia had started to translate it but, Danny, who was one hell of a quick study, finished. "If I'm reading this right, Optimalphas don't transform like other werewolves. The bite changes them, sure, but there's one more step before they can reach their full strength and potential. It's a ritual. We just have to get to Stiles, buy enough time to perform it, and he can save us all."

* * *

Stiles froze. His eyes were wide but not seeing, his breath waited in his lungs. A heartbeat later he grabbed Derek's hand and yanked it against his own throat. "What's the cliché…?" Stiles whispered to Derek. "Put me out of my misery? Put me out of my misery, Derek. Kill me."

If Stiles hadn't just been electrocuted within an inch of his life, Derek wouldn't have been able to pull his hand back. "Don't be stupid," he spat. He meant the sentence to come out a lot more threatening that the squeak implied.

"Don't be ridiculous," Isaac added. He patted Stiles' foreleg. A vein in his temple vibrated.

"Listen to me. Would you just—" Stiles grasped Scott's t-shirt and pulled his face closer. "If Gerard kills me he'll become a full-fledged uber-Darach. An uber-Darach, Scott! If you kill me now there's no way that will happen."

Scott's jaw set. "First of all," he said, "we're not going to let them kill you no matter what. Second of all, even if Gerard did become a super-Darach—"

"Uber."

"Shut up. Even if that happened we would do what we've always done. We'd stop him. No matter how invincible he thinks he is there's always a way to stop him."

"What I don't understand is why Deucalion is his little bitch," said Isaac, scratching the back of his neck with the palms of his fingers. "He's all death and destroying and blah blah Demon Wolf, blah blah, but it seems like he's nothing more than Gerard's little butler."

Stiles snorted. The pressure in his throat hurt, to his surprise. He reminded himself to lie still while he healed.

"What I don't understand is why this wolf's bane incense hasn't killed us yet." Derek looked at the vent high above them. "If it's the same concoction that Victoria Argent used on you, Scott, we never should've healed like we have."

"Maybe Gerard just wants to weaken us, not kill us… yet," said Isaac.

"Probably wants to make you watch him kill me," Stiles muttered. Derek tightened his grip around the younger man's arm. "Ow…"

"Sorry," Derek muttered. He adjusted the way he held Stiles' weight in his lap and ordered his muscles to cushion his body instead of support it.

Suddenly Isaac leaned over Stiles' waist. "Dude, what's under your shirt?"

"Huh?" Stiles fingered the fabric above his naval. "Nothing – why – wait, something itches…" He clawed at his shirt and then relaxed and let Derek fold the clothing back. A crumpled piece of paper sat on Stiles' stomach. "What the hell…?"

"Love letter?" Isaac asked, pure sarcasm.

"Aiden… Aiden must have stuffed it down my shirt when he dragged me in here." Stiles flicked the paper towards Derek using his thumb and middle finger. "What's it say?"

Derek un-crumpled the paper and smoothed it out using his own chest. His eyes flitted across the page three times, widening with each go. "It's just a receipt, Stiles. Must've had it in your pocket." His expression communicated something else to the boys, though, and all three immediately realized that whatever was on the paper shouldn't be said aloud with three pairs of werewolf ears listening to their every breath. So, Derek held the paper up to let Stiles, Isaac and Scott read it themselves. It was only ten words:

_I'm on your side now_

_help is coming_

_be ready_

 

* * *

 

Allison Argent couldn't hide a self-satisfied smirk. Cora Hale had supernatural strength, but Allison scaled the outside of the distillery wall twice as fast. The hunter and the werewolf tiptoed across a stone ledge and squeezed through a rectangular window on the east side of the facility. Ethan and Chris Argent took the same path on the west side. Deaton, Lydia and Danny went through a back door and stood waiting outside the main room of the distillery, waiting for the signal.

Allison crawled to the edge of an iron walkway twenty feet above the room. Even though she expected to see the scene below her, she still gasped.

Stiles hung from his wrists in front of the vengeful sign Ennis had clawed into the wall. He must have been unconscious because his ankles were rolled and his whole body was limp. Gerard stood in front of the wounded Optimalpha and watched Stiles blood drain from his wrists into a bucket at his feet. A burst of adrenaline shocked Allison's system at the sight – Stiles was going to bleed out sooner than they anticipated.

Behind Gerard, Deucalion, Kali and Aiden stood over Scott, Derek and Isaac. The three werewolves were bound, on their knees, and subdued by cattle prods in their backs. Whenever any one of them made a move to help Stiles, one of the Alphas jabbed electricity into their spines.

Allison and Cora traded glances. "Ready?" the hunter whispered.

Cora's eyes were narrows and fierce. She leaned over the edge like an Olympian about to dive. "Ready," she said through sharp fangs. "Do it."

Allison unsheathed an arrow and released it. On the opposite side of the room, her father unleashed a barrage of bullets. Ethan and Cora dove off the walkways and landed, claws and teeth bared, between Gerard and his Alphas. Deucalion jabbed Derek in the neck with the cattle prod before launching it like a spear at Ethan. He rolled left, Cora right. Kali shoved Isaac aside and intercepted her. Allison took careful aim at Scott, said a brief prayer, and shot an arrow that sliced apart the ropes around his wrists. Startled, stunned, it took Scott an extra minute to realize that he was free. By then Deaton, Lydia and Danny ran into the room. Danny worked on getting Isaac and Derek free while Deaton and Lydia pulled Scott towards the sidelines.

"What's going on?" Scott asked. His words were slurred from the combination of electrocution and the poisonous smoke still in his lungs. Before he got an answer, Kali launched Cora and knocked all three of them to the ground. Derek roared. He tackled Kali so hard that they both burst through the wall behind Stiles.

"Lydia – Lydia, go!" Deaton shouted. Lydia squealed with fear but ducked her head and sprinted towards the corner. She found where the rope that held Stiles aloft was tied and got busy unknotting it. Deaton pulled Scott to his feet. The veterinarian took a syringe out of his pocket. It was as round as his fist, as long as his forearm, and full of violet liquid. "Do you trust me?" he asked Scott.

Scott swayed. He blinked and stood too close to Deaton. "Is that – is that wolf's bane?"

"The rope is too thick! I can't get it—" Lydia began. An arrow interrupted her sentence. Allison cleaved the rope just above Stiles' wrists and the teen crumpled to the floor.

"Wolf's bane and mistletoe," Deaton explained. "Scott, I'm sorry, but I have to kill you."

"Wh-what?"

Danny reappeared. He pulled Scott's arm over his shoulder and helped Deaton lead him over to Stiles. There was a gash across his forehead, courtesy of Deucalion, who was currently getting his ass whooped by his twin Alphas.

"Trust me," Deaton repeated to Scott. "Just trust me." Either Scott did trust him or he just didn't react in time, because Deaton stabbed the needle into the teen's neck and emptied the entire contents into Scott's bloodstream.

Lydia scratched her knees raw when she slid across the floor to Stiles. He was still bleeding. His pulse was slow, his face white, his lips tinted blue. Lydia shouted his name and slapped his face until a slice of brown was visible between his eyelids. "Oh, Stiles," she gasped, and kissed him briefly on the forehead.

"Lyd…" he whispered, his voice hoarse. "Can't see you…"

"Listen to me," she said, speaking three times faster than usual. "Listen to me, Stiles. You have to bite Scott. You have to bite him, do you understand? Bite him – bite him!"

Stiles' tongue snaked out and he licked his dry lips. "What – why?"

Kali's body suddenly slid into the room on her back. Derek followed, his eye color so neon bright that they could've been mistaken for flashlights.

"Stiles, it's part of a ritual to make you a pure Optimalpha, do you understand? Scott made you – he bit you, he's your sire and you have to bite him back so that you can fully transform." Deaton and Danny dragged Scott over, then. He'd passed out. His heartbeat was deadly slow. And then, as planned, it disappeared entirely. Deaton took a step back, his hands on his head.

Desperate, Lydia took Stiles' hand and pressed his fingers against Scott's neck. "He's dead. Stiles, Scott is dead, ok? If you understand nothing else, understand this: Scott is dead and you have to bite him to save him. Ok? Bite him and you'll be able to heal him. Save us, Stiles, save—"

Lydia was thrown backwards off her feet. Deaton and Danny went flying as well and all three of them collapsed, unconscious, against the wall. Chris Argent ran into the room then. He got off two shots at Deucalion before the Demon Wolf sent him flying as well. Isaac and Cora, briefly distracted by the ruckus, were tripped by Kali. She nearly snapped their necks but Ethan and Aiden pulled them away. Allison dropped to the floor, bow at the ready. She aimed it at violet-eyed creature standing over Scott and Stiles.  _Gerard_. She had the shot but Gerard picked up Derek by the neck and held him aloft like a shield.

Gerard's shadow wasn't humanoid. With his arms spread he looked like a tree, at first. Like the oak his Darach magic came from. Like he'd done in the cave, he merely looked at someone and they started to choke on their own blood. Werewolves and humans alike dropped to their knees all around the room. Gerard got a sick pleasure from watching the blood leak from between Derek's lips and slide down his cheek, down his chin and down his neck to where Gerard's hand gripped him. Making sure that Derek was watching, Gerard made a show of looking down at the pool of Stiles' blood and the two bodies lying still in it.

"Shame," the Darach said just loud enough to Derek to hear. "Scott didn't have to die, too." Derek's eyes bulged. He aimed his hearing down at Scott and Stiles but couldn't hear heartbeats coming from either of them. A sound that was a half-sob, half-gasp erupted from his throat. "Join them, won't you?" Gerard hissed at Derek.

" _No_!" Isaac shouted.

With a simple flex of his fingers, Gerard crushed Derek's windpipe and threw the body to the floor without a second thought.

* * *

Through the slimmest space between his eyelids, a semiconscious Stiles watched helplessly as Gerard murdered Derek and chucked him beside Scott's dead body.

 _Dead_.

The word repulsed Stiles. He feared it. Death had taken his precious mother, his friends, and now Scott and Derek.  _Bite Scott_ , said Lydia's voice in his head. He remembered her wild eyes - demented, terrified. Crazy? Senseless? No… Determined. Righteous. True. Stiles remembered Marin saying that only an Optimalpha could kill a Demon Wolf like Deucalion, only an Optimalpha could destroy a Darach as strong as Gerard. Stiles had to become one. A True Optimalpha. If not for anyone else, then for his two best friends lying dead beside him.

While Gerard, Kali and Deucalion's attention turned to the traitorous Aiden, Stiles pulled himself forward using only his fingertips. Vaguely he wondered how there could be a single drop of blood left in him when it seemed like he was swimming through it. But swim he did – crawl he did – until he was beside Scott's forearm, staring at the skin. His sire's skin.

Stiles summoned the last of his strength, and bit.

The best way he could describe it was a sugar rush. If the sugar was fiery strength that not so much rushed but exploded. Stiles was on his feet before he knew it.

Every eye turned to him. Gerard's widened the most. "No," the old man croaked. He turned to run but Stiles grabbed him by the neck, just like Gerard had held Derek. Power filled him. Indefinable power. Feral but focused, fueled by Nature but somehow beyond it. He knew – deep in his gut and deep in his soul – that if he really wanted to, he could fly.

He dragged the dark magic out of Gerard like a werewolf would suck out pain. Tendrils of darkness galloped up Stiles' arms. He inhaled everything from Gerard until the only thing that remained was a heartbeat. Slowly, he gave a measured amount back – just enough to leave him alive and functioning but lacking every lick of magic and every memory of who he was. Stiles let Gerard live but the old man was a blank slate. The unconscious elder Argent slid to the floor.

Deucalion and Kali stood their ground. But not out of bravery, out of fear. Stiles took them by the throats, too. He robbed them of their Alpha-ness, of their strength and power, of their memories and selves but not their lives. When they woke up – days later – they would merely be a pair of childlike humans. No threat to anyone ever again. Stiles released them and they landed on the floor beside Gerard.

He made eye contact with everyone else in the room: Deaton, Danny and Lydia; Ethan and Aiden; Chris, Allison, Isaac and Cora. And then Stiles knelt beside Derek and Scott, took their still warm hands and pushed every bit of power he'd stolen from Gerard, Deucalion and Kali into them.

* * *

_20 Hours Later_

Stiles poured on the full werewolf speed and sprinted from his house to Scott's in three minutes flat. Lydia and Isaac stood just outside the front door. "We were just about to call you," she gasped.

"I know," Stiles answered as he ran past them. "I sensed it." He was up the stairs in two steps, past the faceless bodies of his other friends in the hall, and through Scott's bedroom door. Two men sat on the edges of a pair of parallel beds in the center of the room. They were awake but groggy, rubbing their hands through their hair and asking the other what happened. The question was answered when Stiles burst in.

Being a super werewolf didn't mean that Stiles had any special power over his emotions. At the sight of Derek and Scott healthy, healed and alive, his eyes went red. Not supernaturally, but because of the joyful tears. He hugged them both, and they hugged him – cheeks against cheeks, fists around clothing, shoulders trembling from barely contained sobs.

Everything was ok. More than ok, because Scott, Derek and Stiles were alive. Alive, and together.

**The End**


End file.
